::i^'"'::j!:;:iiy;i>i^t::i::;:';ij':;:^!:v;' ■;•:*■; 


lii^i'*       i"-'-"^^ 


%i.^ 


-  Ki 


\ 


J-     <>..■ 


^-^\^Tiim 


yr^  .Mfm^ifj^--.i^-i*ar^^ 


*i 


ranch    '^S>fer  '       ff!>.€t, 

•*tht  right  r??c«:  t»  3^>?  '^ti^  ^  -    Gasii«i  Hjlir  PenciJs. 

CcOLi}. '^,0<}' c{!0?r  5Js^es'*n:^^BCV  ^^-Can-^ral  Static nt  r,- 


II" 


^H\^+ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
RIVERSIDE 


'-•*    J  1.    uJU 


^ 


<*«»*^ 


,y^ 


•'  ^ 


>t^ 


(juJu>    J/.   JiSUuv-rr^ 


PARSON     KELLY 


'BUT    I"M    GRIEVKI)    I    HAVE    NO    VIRGIL." 


See  page  160. 


PARSON    KELLY 


\ 


A.     E.     W.     MASON 


AND 

ANDREW  LANG 


IV^EIV  IMPRESSION 


LONGMANS,     GREEN,     AND     CO. 

39   PATERNOSTER   ROW,    LONDON 

NEW  YORK  AND  BOMBAY 

1900 


3 


A9>¥\  h 


HoO 


Copyright,  iSgg 
By  Longmans,  Green,  and  Co. 


All  rights  reserved 


TO   THE 

BARON   TANNEGUY    DE  WOGAN 

The  Representative  of  a  House  illustrious  for  its  Antiquity. 

hi  Prosperity  splendid:  in  Exile  and  Poverty  gay 

and  constant :   of  Loyalty  unshaken; 

This  Narrative^  founded  on  the  deeds  of  his  Ancestor, 
The  Chevalier  Nicholas  de  Wogan. 

A.  E.  W.  M. 
A.  L. 


PREFACE 

The  authors  wish  to  say  that  the  proceedings  of 
Lady  Oxford  are  unhistorical.  Swift  mentions  a 
rumour  that  there  was  such  a  lady,  but  leaves  her 
anonymous. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 
I.  The    Parson   expresses   Irreproachable  Senti- 
ments AT  THE   MaZARIN    PaLACE I 

II.   Mr.  Wogan  refuses  to  Acknowledge  an  Unde- 
sirable Acquaintance  in  St.  James's  Street      17 

III.  Mr.  Wogan  instructs  the  Ignorant  Parson  in 

the  Ways  of  Women 28 

IV.  Shows  the  Extreme  Danger  of  knowing  Latin      43 
V.   A  Literary   Discussion  in  which  a  Critic,  not 

for  the  first  time,  turns  the  tables  upon 

AN  Author 62 

VI.   Mr.  Nicholas  Wogan  reminds  the  Parson  of  a 

Night  at  the  Mazarin  Palace 78 

VII.  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  has  a  word  to 

SAY  about  Smilinda 88 

VIII.   Mr.  Kelly   has  an   Adventure  at  a   Masquer- 
ade Ball 96 

IX.   Wherein   the   Chivalrous  Mr.  Kelly   behaves 

WITH  Deplorable  Follt no 

X.   What    came    of    Mr.    Kelly's    Winnings    from 

THE  South  Sea 123 

XI.  The     Parson      departs     from     Smilinda     and 

learns  a  number  of  Unpalatable  Truths    .     139 
XII.   The  Parson  meets  Scrope  for  the  Third  Time, 

and  what  came  of  the  Meeting 150 

XIII.  Of  the  Rose  and  the  Rose-Garden  in  Avignon     162 

XIV.  Of  the  Great  Confusion   produced   by  a  Bal- 

lad and  a  Drunken  Crow 1S5 

XV.   At  the  Deanery  of  Westminster 206 

XVI.   Mr.  Wogan    acts   as    Lightning  Conductor  at 

Lady  Oxford's  Rout 225 

XVII.  Lady  Oxford's  '  Coup  de  Theatre  ' 248 

JCVIII.   Wherein   a  New  Fly   discourses    on    the  inno- 
cence of  the  Spider's  Web    ..,.,,.  257 


X  CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page 

XIX.  Stroke  and  Counter-stroke 264 

XX.   Mr.    Scrope    bathes    by    Moonlight    and    in 

HIS  Peruke       283 

XXI.   In  which  Mr.  Kelly  surprises  Smilinda    .  .    .    301 
XXII.  An    Eclogue    which    demonstrates    the   Pas- 
toral Simplicity  of  Corydon  and  Strephon    317 

XXIII.  How   the    Messengers   captured    the    wrong 

Gentleman  ;    and    of    what    Letters    the 
Colonel  burned 328 

XXIV.  Mr.  Wogan  wears  Lady  Oxford's  Livery,  but 

DOES   not    remain    IN    HER    SERVICE 353 

XXV.   How  the  Miniature  of  Lady  Oxford  came  by 

A  Mischance .371 

XXVI.   Mr.    Wogan   Traduces   his   Friend,  with  the 

Happiest  Consequences 387 

XXVII.   How,   BY    keeping   Parole,  Mr.    Kelly   broke 

Prison 398 

XXVIII.  Mr.  Wogan  again  invades  England,  meets  the 
ELECT  Lady,  and  bears  witness  to  her 
Perfections 404 


1 


PARSON   KELLY 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    PARSON    EXPRESSES     IRREPROACHABLE    SENTI- 
MENTS  AT  THE   MAZARIN   PALACE 

"  What  mighty  quarrels  rise  from  trivial  things ! " 

SO  wrote  Mr.  Alexander  Pope,  whom  Nicholas 
Wogan  remembers  as  a  bookish  boy  in  the 
little  Catholic  colony  of  Windsor  Forest.  The 
line  might  serve  as  a  motto  for  the  story  which 
Mr.  Wogan  (now  a  one-armed  retired  colonel  of 
Dillon's  Irish  Brigade  in  French  Service)  is  about  to 
tell.  The  beginnings  of  our  whole  mischancy  busi- 
ness were  trivial  in  themselves,  and  in  all  appearance 
unrelated  to  the  future.  They  were  nothing  more 
important  than  the  purchase  of  a  couple  of  small 
strong-boxes  and  the  placing  of  Parson  Kelly's  patri- 
mony in  Mr.  Law's  company  of  the  West.  Both  of 
these  events  happened  upon  the  same  day. 

It  was  early  in  February  of  the  year  1719,  and 
the  streets  of  Paris  were  deep  in  snow.  Wogan, 
then  plotting  for  King  James's  cause,  rode  into  Paris 
from  St.  Omer  at  ten  o'clock  of  the  forenoon,  and 
just  about  the  same  hour  Parson  Kelly,  plotting  too 
in  his  way,  drove  through  the  Orleans  gate. 

I 


2  PARSON    KELLY 

A  few  hours  later  the  two  men  met  in  the  Marais, 
or  rather  Nicholas  Wogan  saw  the  skirts  of  Kelly's 
coat  vanishing  into  an  ironmonger's  shop,  and  ran 
in  after  him.  Kelly  was  standing  by  the  counter 
with  ja.  lady  on  either  side  of  him,  as  was  the  dear 
man's  wont;  though  their  neighbourhood  on  this 
occasion  was  the  merest  accident,  for  the  Parson 
knew  neither  of  them. 

'Sure  it's  my  little  friend  the  lace  merchant,' 
said  Wogan,  and  clapped  his  hand  pretty  hard  on 
the  small  of  his  friend's  back,  whom  he  had  not  seen 
for  a  twelvemonth  and  more.  Kelly  stumbled  a 
trifle,  maybe,  and  no  doubt  he  coughed  and  splut- 
tered. One  of  the  ladies  dropped  her  purse  and 
shuddered  into  a  corner. 

^  Quelle  bete  sauvage  !'  murmured  the  second  with 
one  indignant  eye  upon  Nicholas  Wogan,  and  the 
other  swimming  with  pity  for  Mr.  Kelly. 

'  Madame,'  said  Wogan,  picking  up  the  purse  and 
restoring  it  with  his  most  elegant  bow,  '  it  was  pure 
affection.' 

'  No  doubt,'  said  Kelly,  as  he  rubbed  his  shoul- 
der; '  but,  Nick,  did  you  never  hear  of  the  bear  that 
smashed  his  master's  skull  in  the  endeavour  to  stroke 
off  a  fly  that  had  settled  on  his  nose?  That  was  pure 
affection  too.' 

He  turned  back  to  the  counter,  on  which  the  shop- 
man was  setting  out  a  number  of  small  strong-boxes, 
and  began  to  examine  them. 

*  Well,  you  must  e'en  blame  yourself,  George,' 
said  Nick,  '  for  the  mere  sight  of  you  brings  the 
smell  of  the  peat  to  my  nostrils  and  lends  vigour  to 
my  hand.' 


PARSON    KELLY  3 

This  he  said  with  all  sincerity,  for  the  pair  had  been 
friends  in  county  Kildare  long  before  Kelly  went  to 
Dublin  University,  and  took  deacon's  orders,  and  was 
kicked  out  of  the  pulpit  for  preaching  Jacobitism  in 
his  homilies.  As  boys  they  had  raced  bare-legged 
over  the  heather,  and  spent  many  an  afternoon  in  fight- 
ing over  again  that  siege  of  Rathcoffey  Castle  which 
an  earlier  Nicholas  Wogan  had  held  so  stoutly  for 
King  Charles.  The  recollection  of  those  days  always 
played  upon  Wogan's  foolish  heartstrings  with  a 
touch  soft  as  a  woman's  fingers,  and  very  likely  it 
now  set  George  Kelly's  twanging  to  the  same  tune  ; 
for  at  Wogan's  words  he  turned  himself  about  with  a 
face  suddenly  illumined. 

'  Here,  Nick,  lay  your  hand  there,*  said  he  and 
stretched  out  his  hand.     'You  will  be  long  in  Paris?' 

*  No  more  than  a  night     And  you?  ' 

*  Just  the  same  time.' 

He  turned  again  to  the  counter,  and  busied  him- 
self with  his  boxes  in  something  of  a  hurry,  as  though 
he  would  avoid  further  questioning.  Wogan  blew 
a  low  whistle. 

Maybe  we  are    on   the    same   business,  eh?'  he 
asked.     'The  King's  business?' 

'Whisht,  man,'  whispered  Kelly  quickly,  and  he 
glanced  about  the  shop.    '  Have  you  no  sense  at  all? ' 

The  shop  was  empty  at  the  moment,  and  there  was 
no  reason  that  Wogan  could  see  for  his  immoderate 
secrecy.  But  the  Parson  was  much  like  the  rest  of 
the  happy-go-lucky  conspirators  who  were  intrigu- 
ing to  dislodge  the  Elector  from  the  English  throne 
—  cautious  by  fits  and  moods,  and  the  more  often 
when  there  was  the  less  need.     But  let  a  scheme  get 


4  PARSON    KELLY 

ripe  for  completion,  and  sure  they  imagined  it  com- 
pleted already,  and  at  once  there  would  be  letters  left 
about  here,  for  all  the  world  to  read,  and  a  wink  and 
a  sly  word  there,  so  that  it  was  little  short  of  a  miracle 
when  a  plot  was  launched  before  it  had  been  dis- 
covered by  those  it  was  launched  against.  Not  that 
you  are  to  attribute  to  Mr.  Wogan  any  superior 
measure  of  reticence.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  very 
probable  that  it  was  precisely  Mr.  Wogan's  tongue 
which  George  Kelly  distrusted,  and  if  so,  small  blame 
to  him.  At  any  rate,  he  pursed  up  his  lips  and  stiff- 
ened his  back.  Consequence  turned  him  into  a  ram- 
rod, and  with  a  voice  pitched  towards  the  shopman: 

'  I  am  still  in  the  muslin  trade,'  said  he,  meaning 
that  he  collected  money  for  the  Cause.  '  I  shall 
cross  to  England  to-morrow.' 

'  Indeed  and  will  you  now?  '  said  Wogan,  who  was 
perhaps  a  little  contraried  by  his  friend's  reserve. 
'  Then  I  'II  ask  you  to  explain  what  these  pretty 
boxes  have  to  do  with  the  muslin  trade?' 

'  They  are  to  carry  my  samples  in,'  replied  Kelly 
readily  enough ;  and  then,  as  if  to  put  Wogan's  ques- 
tions aside,  'Are  you  for  England,  too?' 

'  No,'  said  Wogan,  imitating  Mr.  Kelly's  import- 
ance ;  '  I  am  going  to  visit  my  Aunt  Anne  at  Cadiz; 
so  make  the  most  of  that,  my  little  friend.' 

Wogan  was  no  great  dab  at  the  cyphers  and  the 
jargon  of  the  plots,  but  he  knew  that  the  Duke  of 
Ormond,  being  then  in  Spain,  figured  in  the  corre- 
spondence as  my  Aunt  Anne.  It  was  now  Kelly's 
turn  to  whistle,  and  that  he  did,  and  then  laughed 
besides. 

'  I  might  have    guessed,'  said  he,   *  for  there 's  a 


PARSON    KELLY  5 

likely  prospect  of  broken  heads  at  all  events,  and  to 
that  magnet  you  were  never  better  than  a  steel  filing.' 

'  Whisht,  man,'  exclaimed  Wogan,  frowning  and 
wagging  his  head  preposterously.  '  Is  it  yourself 
that's  the  one  person  in  the  world  to  practise 
mysteries?  Broken  heads,  indeed  ! '  and  he  shrugged 
his  shoulder  as  though  he  had  a  far  greater  business 
on  hand.  Kelly's  curiosity  rose  to  the  bait,  and  he 
put  a  question  or  two  which  Wogan  waived  aside. 
The  Parson  indeed  had  hit  the  truth.  Wogan  had 
no  business  whatsoever  except  the  mere  fighting,  but 
since  the  Parson  was  for  practising  so  much  dignified 
secrecy,  Wogan  would  do  no  less. 

To  carry  the  joke  a  step  further,  he  turned  to  the 
counter,  even  as  Kelly  had  done,  and  examined  the 
despatch-boxes.  He  would  buy  one,  to  convince 
Kelly  that  he,  too,  was  trusted  with  secret  papers. 
The  boxes  were  as  like  to  one  another  as  peas,  but 
Wogan  discovered  a  great  dissimilitude  of  defects. 

'  There  's  not  one  of  them  fit  to  keep  a  mouldy 
cheese  in,'  said  he,  tapping  and  sounding  them  with 
his  knuckles,  *  let  alone  — '  and  then  he  caught  him- 
self up  with  a  glance  at  Kelly.  '  However,  this 
perhaps  may  serve  —  but  wait  a  little.'  He  felt  in 
his  pockets  and  by  chance  discovered  a  piece  of 
string.  This  string  he  drew  out  and  carefully  meas- 
ured the  despatch-box,  depth  and  width  and  length. 
Then  he  put  the  tip  of  his  thumb  between  his  teeth 
and  bit  it  in  deep  thought.  '  Well,  and  it  must  serve, 
since  there  's  no  better ;  but  for  heaven's  sake,  my 
man,  clap  a  stouter  lock  on  it !  I  could  smash  this 
with  my  fist.  A  good  stout  lock;  and  send  it  —  wait 
a  moment ! '     He  glanced  towards  Kelly  and  turned 


6  PARSON    KELLY 

back  to  the  shopman.     '  I  '11  just  write  down  where 
you  are  to  send  it  to.' 

To  Kelly's  more  complete  mystification  he  scrib- 
bled a  name  and  an  address  on  a  sheet  of  paper,  and 
folded  it  up  with  an  infinity  of  precautions. 

*  Send  it  there,  key  and  all,  by  nine  o'clock  to- 
morrow morning.' 

The  name  was  Mr,  Kelly's,  the  address  the  inn  at 
which  Mr.  Kelly  was  in  the  habit  of  putting  up. 
Wogan  bought  the  box  merely  to  gull  Kelly  into  the 
belief  that  he,  also,  was  a  Royal  messenger.  Then 
he  paid  for  the  box,  and  forthwith  forgot  all  about 
it  over  a  bottle  of  wine.  Kelly,  for  his  part,  held 
his  despatch-box  in  his  hand. 

*  Nick,  I  have  business,'  said  he  as  soon  as  the 
bottle  was  empty,  '  and  it  appears  you  have  too. 
Shall  we  meet  to-night?  Mr.  Law  expects  me  at  the 
Mazarin  Palace.' 

'  Faith,  then  I  '11  make  bold  to  intrude  upon  him,' 
said  Nicholas,  who,  though  Mr.  Law  kept  open  house 
for  those  who  favoured  the  White  Rose,  was  but  a 
rare  visitor  to  the  Mazarin  Palace,  holding  the  finan- 
cier in  so  much  awe  that  no  amount  of  affability  could 
extinguish  it. 

However,  that  night  he  went,  and  so  learned  in 
greater  particular  the  secret  of  the  Parson's  journey. 
It  was  nine  o'clock  at  night  when  Wogan  turned  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  Vivienne  and  saw  the  windows  of 
the  Mazarin  Palace  blazing  out  upon  the  snow.  A 
little  crowd  shivered  and  gaped  beneath  them,  mak- 
ing, poor  devils  !  a  vicarious  supper  off  the  noise  of 
Mr.  Law's  entertainment.  And  it  was  a  noisy  party 
that  Mr.  Law  entertained.     Before  he  was  half-way 


PARSON    KELLY  7 

down  the  street  Wogan  could  hear  the  peal  of 
women's  laughter  and  a  snatch  of  a  song,  and  after 
that  maybe  a  sound  of  breaking  glass,  as  though  a 
tumbler  had  been  edged  off  the  table  by  an  elbow. 
He  was  shown  up  the  great  staircase  to  a  room  on 
the  first  floor. 

'  Monsieur  Nicholas  de  Wogan,'  said  the  footman, 
throwing  open  the  door.  Wogan  stepped  into  the 
company  of  the  pretty  arch  conspirators  who  were 
then  mismanaging  the  Chevalier's  affairs.  However, 
with  their  mismanagement  Wogan  is  not  here  con- 
cerned, for  this  is  not  a  story  of  Kings  and  Queens  and 
high  politics  but  of  the  private  fortunes  of  Parson 
Kelly.  Olive  Trant  was  playing  backgammon  in  a 
corner  with  Mr.  Law.  Madame  de  Mezieres,  who 
was  seldom  absent  when  politics  were  towards,  graced 
the  table  and  conversed  with  Lady  Cecilia  Law. 
And  right  in  front  of  Mr.  Wogan  stood  that  mad- 
cap her  sister,  Fanny  Oglethorpe,  with  her  sleeves 
tucked  back  to  her  elbows,  looking  gloriously  jolly  and 
handsome.  She  was  engaged  in  mincing  chickens 
in  a  china  bowl  which  was  stewing  over  a  little  lamp 
on  the  table,  for,  said  she,  Mr.  Law  had  aspersed  the 
English  cooks,  and  she  was  minded  to  make  him  eat 
his  word  and  her  chicken  that  very  night  for  supper. 
She  had  Parson  Kelly  helping  her  upon  the  one 
side,  and  a  young  French  gentleman  whom  Wogan 
did  not  know  upon  the  other ;  and  the  three  of  them 
were  stirring  in  the  bowl  with  a  clatter  of  their 
wooden  spoons. 

'  Here  's  Mr.  Wogan,'  cried  Fanny  Oglethorpe,  and 
as  Wogan  held  out  his  hand  she  clapped  her  hot 
spoon  into  it.     '  M.  de  Bellegarde,  you  must  know 


8  PARSON    KELLY 

Mr.  Wogan.  He  has  the  broadest  back  of  any  man 
that  ever  I  was  acquainted  with.  You  must  do  more 
than  know  him.  You  must  love  him,  as  I  do,  for  the 
broadness  of  his  back.' 

M,  de  Bellegarde  looked  not  over-pleased  with  the 
civility  of  her  greeting,  and  bowed  to  Wogan  with  an 
affectation  of  ceremony.  Mr.  Law  came  forward 
with  an  affable  word.  Olive  Trant  added  another, 
and  Madame  de  Mezieres  asked  eagerly  what  brought 
him  to  Paris. 

*  He  is  on  his  way  to  join  the  Duke  of  Ormond  at 
Cadiz,'  cried  Kelly ;  '  and,'  said  this  man  deceived, '  he 
carries  the  most  important  messages.  Bow  to  him, 
ladies !  Gentlemen,  your  hands  to  your  hearts,  and 
your  knees  to  the  ground  !  It 's  no  longer  a  soldier 
of  fortune  that  you  see  before  you,  but  a  diplomatist, 
an  ambassador:  His  Excellency,  the  Chevalier 
Wogan  ; '  and  with  that  he  ducked  and  bowed,  shak- 
ing his  head  and  gesticulating  with  his  hands,  as 
though  he  were  some  dandified  court  chamberlain. 
All  the  Parson's  diplomacy  had  been  plainly  warmed 
out  of  him  in  his  present  company.  Mr.  Law  began 
to  laugh,  but  Fanny  Oglethorpe  dropped  her  spoon 
and  looked  at  Wogan. 

'The  Duke  of  Ormond?'  said  she,  lowering  her 
voice. 

'Indeed?  and  you  carry  messages?'  said  Miss 
Olive  Trant,  upsetting  the  backgammon  board. 

'  Of  what  kind?  '  exclaimed  Madame  de  Mezieres; 
and  then,  in  an  instant,  their  pretty  heads  were  clus- 
tered about  the  table,  and  their  mouths  whispering 
questions,  advice,  and  precautions,  all  in  a  breath. 
'  It 's  at  Bristol  you  are  to  land  ?  '     '  The  Earl  Maris- 


PARSON    KELLY  9 

chal  is  for  Scotland?  '  '  You  carry  5,000  barrels,  Mr. 
Wogan?'  meaning  thereby  stands  of  arms.  And, 
'  You  may  speak  with  all  confidence,'  Miss  Oglethorpe 
urged,  with  a  glance  this  way  and  that  over  her 
shoulders.  'There  are  none  but  honest  people 
here.  M.  de  Bellegarde,'  and  she  looked  towards  the 
French  spark,  blushing  very  prettily,  '  is  my  good 
friend.' 

Mr.  Wogan  bowed. 

•  It  was  not  that  I  doubted  M.  de  Bellegarde,'  he 
replied.  '  But  'faith,  ladies,  I  have  learnt  more  of  the 
prospects  of  the  expedition  from  your  questions  than 
ever  I  knew  before.  I  was  told  for  a  certain  thing 
that  heads  would  be  broken,  and,  to  be  sure,  I  was 
content  with  the  information.' 

At  that  Mr.  Law  laughed.  Kelly  asked,  '  What  of 
the  despatch-box,  then?'  The  ladies  pouted  their 
resentment;  and  Mr.  Wogan,  for  the  first  and  last 
time  in  his  life,  wore  the  reputation  of  a  diplomatist. 
'A  close  man,'  said  M.  de  Bellegarde,  pursing  his 
lips  in  approval. 

•'  But  sped  on  an  unlikely  venture,'  added  Mr.  Law, 
getting  back  to  his  backgammon.  '  Oh,  I  know,'  he 
continued,  as  the  voices  rose  against  him,  *  you  have 
grumblings  enough  in  England  to  fill  a  folio,  and  so 
you  think  the  whole  country  will  hurry  to  the  water- 
side to  welcome  you,  before  you  have  set  half  your 
foot  on  shore.  But,  when  all  is  said,  the  country 's 
prosperous.  Your  opportunity  will  come  with  its 
misfortunes.' 

But  Madame  de  Mezieres  would  hear  nothing  of 
such  forebodings;  and  Olive  Trant,  catching  up  a 
glass,  swung  it  above  her  head. 


lo  PARSON    KELLY 

'  May  the  Oak  flourish  I  '  she  cried. 

Fanny  Oglethorpe  sprang  from  her  seat.  '  May 
the  White  Rose  bloom ! '  she  answered,  giving  the 
counter-word.     The  pair  clinked  their  glasses. 

'  Aye,  that's  the  spirit !  '  cried  the  Parson.  '  Drink, 
Nick  !  God  save  the  King !  Here 's  a  bumper  to 
him!  ' 

He  stood  with  his  face  turned  upwards,  his  blue 
eyes  afire.  '  Here 's  to  the  King !  '  he  repeated. 
'  Here  's  to  the  Cause  !  God  send  that  nothing  ever 
come  between  the  Cause  and  me.'  He  drained  his 
glass  as  he  spoke,  and  tossed  it  over  his  shoulder. 
There  was  a  tinkling  sound,  and  a  flash  of  sparks,  as  it 
were,  when  the  glass  splintered  against  the  wall. 
George  Kelly  stood  for  a  moment,  arrested  in  his 
attitude,  his  eyes  staring  into  vacancy,  as  though 
some  strange  news  had  come  of  a  sudden  knocking  at 
his  heart.  Then  he  hitched  his  shoulders.  *  Bah  !  ' 
he  cried,  and  began  to  sing  in  a  boisterous  voice 
some  such  ditty  as 

Of  all  the  days  that 's  in  the  year, 
The  tenth  of  June  's  to  me  most  dear, 
When  our  White  Roses  do  appear 
To  welcome  Jamie  the  Rover. 

Or  it  may  have  been 

Let  our  great  James  come  over, 
And  bafHe  Prince  Hanover, 
With  hearts  and  hands  in  loyal  bands. 
We  '11  welcome  him  at  Dover. 

It  was  not  the  general  practice  to  allow  the  Parson 
to  sing  without  protest;  for  he  squeezed  less  music 
out    of  him  than    any  other    Irishman   could   evoke 


PARSON    KELLY  ii 

from  a  deal  board  with  his  bare  knuckles.  When 
he  sang,  and  may  Heaven  forgive  the  application  of 
the  word  in  this  conjunction,  there  was  ever  a  sort 
of  mortal  duello  between  his  voice  and  the  tune  — 
very  distressing  to  an  audience.  But  now  he  sang 
his  song  from  beginning  to  end,  and  no  one  inter- 
rupted him,  or  so  much  as  clapped  a  hand  over  an 
ear;  and  this  not  out  of  politeness.  But  his  words 
so  rang  with  a  startling  fervour;  and  he  stood,  with 
his  head  thrown  back,  rigid  in  the  stress  of  passion. 
His  voice  quavered  down  to  silence,  but  his  eyes 
still  kept  their  fires,  his  attitude  its  fixity.  Once  or 
twice  he  muttered  a  word  beneath  his  breath,  and 
then  a  hoarse  cry  came  leaping  from  his  mouth. 

'  May  nothing  ever  come  between  the  Cause  and 
me,  except  it  be  death  —  except  it  be  death ! ' 

A  momentary  silence  waited  upon  the  abrupt 
cessation  of  his  voice :  Wogan  even  held  his  breath  ; 
Miss  Oglethorpe  did  not  stir;  and  during  that  silence, 
there  came  a  gentle  rapping  on  the  door.  Kelly 
looked  towards  it  with  a  start,  as  though  there  was 
his  answer ;  but  the  knocking  was  repeated  before 
anyone  moved  ;  it  seemed  as  if  suspense  had  hung  its 
chains  upon  every  limb.  It  was  Mr.  Wogan  who 
opened  the  door,  and  in  stalked  Destiny  in  the  shape 
of  a  lackey.  He  carried  a  note,  and  handed  it  to 
George  Kelly. 

'  The  messenger  has  but  this  instant  brought  it,' 
he  said. 

Kelly  broke  the  seal,  and  unfolded  the  paper. 

'  From  General  Dillon,'  he  said  ;  and,  reading  the 
note  through,  '  Ladies,  will  you  pardon  me?  Mr. 
Law,  I  have  your  permission?     I  have  but  this  one 


12  PARSON    KELLY 

night    in    Paris,    and    General    Dillon    has    news    of 
importance  which  bears  upon  my  journey.' 

With  that  he  took  his  hat,  and  got  him  from  the 
room,  Fanny  Oglethorpe  sprang  up  from  her 
chair. 

'  Sure,  my  chicken  will  be  ruined,'  she  cried. 
'  Come,  M.  de  Bellegarde,'  and  the  pair  fell  again  to 
stirring  in  the  bowl,  and  with  such  indiscriminate 
vigour  that  more  than  once  their  fingers  got  entangled. 
This  Mr.  Wogan  observed,  and  was  sufficiently  indis- 
creet to  utter  a  sly  proposal  that  he  should  make  a 
third  at  the  stirring. 

'  There  is  no  need  for  a  third,'  said  Miss  Oglethorpe, 
with  severity,  '  But,  on  the  other  hand,  I  want  a 
couple  of  pats  of  butter,  and  a  flagon  of  water;  and 
I  shall  be  greatly  obliged  if  Mr.  Wogan  will  procure 
me  them.'  And  what  with  that  and  other  requests 
which  chanced  to  come  into  her  head,  she  kept  him 
busy  until  the  famous  supper  was  prepared. 

In  the  midst  of  that  supper  back  came  Mr.  Kelly, 
and  plumped  himself  down  in  his  chair,  very  full  of  his 
intelligence.  A  glass  or  two  of  Mr.  Law's  burgundy 
served  to  warm  out  of  his  blood  all  the  reserve  that 
was  left  over  from  the  morning. 

'  We  are  all  friends  here,'  said  he,  turning  to  Miss 
Oglethorpe.  '  Moreover,  I  need  the  advantage  of 
your  advice  and  knowledge.  General  Dillon  believes 
that  my  Lord  Oxford  maybe  persuaded  to  undertake 
the  muslin  trade  in  Britain.' 

*  Lord  Oxford,'  exclaimed  Miss  Oglethorpe,  with 
a  start,  for  Oxford  had  lain  quiet  since  he  nearly  lost 
his  head  five  years  agone.  '  He  is  to  collect  the 
money  from  our  supporters?  ' 


PARSON    KELLY  13 

'  It  is  the  opinion  that  he  will,  if  properly- 
approached.' 

Mr.  Law,  at  the  top  of  the  table,  shook  his  head. 

*  It  is  a  very  forward  and  definite  step  for  so  pru- 
dential a  politician,'  said  he. 

'But  a  politician  laid  on  a  shelf,  and  pining  there,' 
replied  George.  '  There  's  the  reason  for  it.  He  has 
a  hope  of  power,  —  Qui  a  bu,  boira!  The  hope  grows 
real  if  we  succeed.' 

'  I  would  trust  him  no  further  than  a  Norfolk 
attorney,'  returned  Mr.  Law ;  '  and  that 's  not  an 
inch  from  the  end  of  my  nose.  He  will  swear 
through  a  two-inch  board  to  help  you,  and  then  turn 
cat  in  pan  if  a  Whig  but  smile  at  him.' 

'  Besides,'  added  Miss  Oglethorpe,  and  she  rested 
her  chin  thoughtfully  upon  her  hands.  As  she 
spoke,  all  the  eyes  in  that  company  were  turned  on 
her.  '  Besides,'  and  then  she  came  to  a  stop,  and 
flushed  a  little.  '  Lord  Oxford,'  she  continued,  '  was 
my  good  friend  when  I  was  in  England.'  Then  she 
stopped  again.  Finally  she  looked  straight  into 
M.  de  Bellegarde's  eyes,  and  with  an  admirable 
bravery:  '  Some,  without  reason,  have  indeed  slan- 
dered me  with  stories  that  he  was  more  than  my 
friend.' 

'  None,  Madame,  who  know  you,  I  '11  warrant,'  said 
M.  de  Bellegarde,  and  gravely  lifting  her  hand  to  his 
lips,  he  kissed  it. 

'  Well,  that 's  a  very  pretty  answer,'  said  she  in 
some  confusion.  '  So  Mr.  Kelly  may  know,'  she 
went  on,  '  that  I  speak  with  some  authority  concern- 
ing my  Lord  Oxford.  It  is  not  he  whom  I  distrust. 
But  he  has  lately  married  a  young  wife.' 


14  PARSON   KELLY 

*  Ah,'  said  Mr.  Law,  and  '  Oh !  '  cried  Mr.  Wogan, 
with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  '  If  a  lady  is  to 
dabble  her  tender  fingers  in  the  pie  — ' 

'And  what  of  it,  Mr.  Wogan?'  Madame  de 
Mezieres  took  him  up  coldly. 

'Yes,  Mr.  Wogan,  what  of  it?'  repeated  Olive 
Trant  hotly,  '  provided  the  lady  be  loyal.'  In  an 
instant  Mr,  Wogan  had  the  whole  nest  swarming 
about  his  ears,  with  the  exception  of  Fanny  Ogle- 
thorpe. It  was  intimated  to  him  that  he  had  a  fine 
preposterous  conceit  of  his  sex,  and  would  he  be 
pleased  to  justify  it? 

Madame  de  Mezieres  hinted  that  the  ability  to 
swing  a  shillelagh  and  bring  it  down  deftly  on  an 
offending  sconce  did  not  comprise  the  whole  virtues 
of  mankind.  And  if  it  came  to  the  test  of  dealing 
blows,  why  there  was  Joan  of  Arc,  and  what  had  Mr. 
Wogan  to  say  to  her?  Mr.  Wogan  turned  tail,  as  he 
always  did  when  women  were  in  the  van  of  the 
attack. 

'  Ladies,'  he  said,  '  I  do  not  think  Joan  of  Arc  so 
singular  after  all,  since  I  see  four  here  who  I  believe 
from  my  soul  could  emulate  her  noblest  achieve- 
ments.' 

But  Mr.  Wogan's  gallantry  went  for  very  little. 
The  cowardice  of  it  was  apparent  for  all  that  he 
bowed  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  performed 
such  antics  as  he  thought  likely  to  tickle  women  into 
good  humour. 

'  Besides,'  put  in  Lady  Cecilia,  with  a  soothing 
gentleness,  '  Mr.  Wogan  should  know  that  the  cause 
he  serves  owes,  as  it  is,  much  to  the  good  offices  of 
women.' 


PARSON   KELLY  15 

Mr.  Wogan  had  his  own  opinions  upon  that  point, 
but  he  wiped  his  forehead  and  had  the  discretion  to 
hold  his  tongue.  Meanwhile  Fanny  Oglethorpe, 
who  had  sat  with  frowning  brows  in  silence,  diverted 
the  onslaught. 

'  But  it  is  just  the  loyalty  of  Lady  Oxford  which  is 
in  question.  Lady  Oxford  is  a  Whig,  of  a  Whig  family. 
She  is  even  related  to  Mr.  Walpole,  the  Minister.  I 
think  Mr.  Kelly  will  have  to  tread  very  warily  at 
Lord  Oxford's  house  of  Brampton  Bryan.' 

'  For  my  part,'  rejoined  Mr.  Law,  '  I  think  the 
Chevalier  de  St.  George  would  do  better  to  follow 
the  example  of  Mr.  Kelly  and  my  friends  here.' 

'And  what  is  that?  '  asked  Wogan. 

*  Why,  scrape  up  all  the  money  he  can  lay  hands 
on  and  place  it  in  my  company  of  the  West.' 

Mr.  Wogan  was  not  well  pleased  to  hear  of  his 
friend's  speculation,  and,  when  they  left  the  house 
together,  took  occasion  to  remonstrate  with  him. 

*  How  much  have  you  placed?'  he  asked. 

'  All  that  I  could,'  replied  George.  '  It  is  little 
enough  —  the  remnant  of  my  patrimony.  Mr.  Law 
lent  me  a  trifle  in  addition  to  make  up  a  round  sum. 
It  is  a  very  kindly  man,  and  well  disposed  to  me.  I 
have  no  fears,  for  all  the  money  in  France  dances  to 
the  tune  he  fiddles.' 

'  To  his  tune,  to  be  sure,'  grumbled  Wogan ;  *  but 
are  you  equally  certain  his  tune  is  yours?  Oh,  I 
know.  He  is  a  monstrous  clever  man,  not  a  doubt 
of  it.  The  computation  of  figures — it  is  the  devil's 
own  gift,  and  to  my  nose  it  smells  damnably  of 
sulphur.' 

Mr.   Wogan   has    good    occasion   to    reflect    how 


1 6  PARSON    KELLY 

Providence  fleers  at  one's  apprehensions  when  he 
remembers  the  sleepless  hours  during  which  he 
tossed  upon  his  bed  that  night,  seeing  all  the  Parson's 
scanty  savings  drowned  beyond  redemption  in  the 
China  seas.  For  no  better  chance  could  have  be- 
fallen Kelly  than  that  Wogan's  forebodings  should 
have  come  true.  But  the  venture  succeeded.  Fanny 
Oglethorpe  made  a  fortune  and  married  M.  de  Belle- 
garde.  Olive  Trant,  the  richer  by  100,000  pistoles, 
became  Princess  of  Auvergne.  Do  they  ever  remem- 
ber that  night  at  the  Hotel  de  Mazarin,  and  how  Parson 
Kelly  cried  out  almost  in  an  agony  as  though,  in  the 
heat  of  passion,  he  surmised  the  future,  '  May 
nothing  come  between  the  Cause  and  me  '  ?  Well, 
for  one  thing  the  money  came.  It  placed  in  his 
hands  a  golden  key  wherewith  to  unlock  the  gates  of 
disaster. 


CHAPTER   II 

MR.   WOGAN   REFUSES   TO   ACKNOWLEDGE   AN 

UNDESIRABLE   ACQUAINTANCE   IN 

ST.   JAMES'S    STREET 

MR.  WOGAN  left  Paris  early  the  next  morning 
without  a  thought  for  the  despatch-box  that 
he  had  sent  to  Kelly,  and,  coming  to  Cadiz,  sailed 
with  the  Spaniards  out  of  that  harbour  on  the  tenth 
of  March,  and  into  the  great  storm  which  dispersed 
the  fleet  ofif  Cape  Finisterre.  In  company  with  the 
Earl  Marischal  and  the  Marquis  of  Tullibardine, 
he  was  aboard  one  of  those  two  ships  which  alone 
touched  the  coast  of  Scotland.  Consequently,  he 
figured  with  better  men,  as  Field-Marshal  Keith,  and 
his  brother  the  Ambassador,  and  my  Lord  George 
Murray,  in  that  little  skirmish  at  Glenshiel,  and  very 
thankful  he  was  when  the  night  shut  black  upon  the 
valleys  and  put  its  limit  to  the  attack  of  General 
VVightman's  soldiers  from  Inverness.  A  council  of 
war  was  held  in  the  dark  upon  a  hill-side,  whence  the 
fires  of  General  VVightman's  camp  could  be  seen 
twinkling  ruddily  below,  but  Wogan  heard  little  of 
what  was  disputed,  for  he  went  to  sleep  with  his  back 
against  a  boulder  and  dreamed  of  his  ancestors.  He 
was  waked  up  about  the  middle  of  the  night  by  the 
Earl  Marischal,  who  informed  him  that  the  Spaniards 


1 8  PARSON    KELLY 

had  determined  to  surrender  at  discretion,  and  that 
the  handful  of  Highlanders  were  already  dispersing 
to  their  homes. 

*  As  for  ourselves,  we  shall  make  for  the  Western 
Islands  and  wait  there  for  a  ship  to  take  us  off.' 

'  Then  I  '11  wish  you  luck  and  a  ship,'  said  Wogan. 
He  stood  up  and  shook  the  dew  off  his  cloak.  '  I 
have  friends  in  London,  and  I  '11  trust  my  lucky  star 
to  get  me  there.' 

'  Your  star  's  in  eclipse,'  said  the  Earl.  '  You  will 
never  reach  London  except  it  be  with  your  legs  tied 
under  a  horse's  belly.' 

'  Well,  I  'm  thinking  you  have  not  such  a  clear 
path  after  all  to  the  Western  Islands !  Did  you 
never  hear  of  my  forefather,  Thomas  Wogan,  that 
rode  with  twenty-eight  Cavaliers  through  the  heart 
of  Cromwell's  England,  and  came  safe  into  the  High- 
lands? Sure  what  that  great  man  could  do  with 
twenty-eight  companions  to  make  him  conspicuous, 
his  degenerate  son  can  do  alone.' 

Mr.  Wogan  began  his  journey  by  walking  over  the 
hill,  near  to  the  top  of  which  his  friends  had  been 
driven  off  the  road  to  Inverness  by  the  English  fire, 
which  was  very  well  nourished.  He  made  his  way 
to  Loch  Duich,  as  they  call  it,  and  so  by  boat  round 
Ardnamurchan,  to  a  hamlet  they  call  Oban.  There 
he  changed  his  dress  for  the  Campbell  black  and 
green,  and,  joining  company  with  a  drove  of  Rob 
Roy's  cattle  from  the  Lennox,  travelled  to  Glasgow. 
His  Irish  brogue  no  doubt  sounded  a  trifle  strange 
in  a  Highland  drover,  but  he  was  in  a  country  where 
the  people  were  friendly.  At  Glasgow  he  changed 
his  dress  again  for  a  snuff-coloured   bourgeois  suit, 


PARSON    KELLY  19 

and  so  rode  into  England  by  the  old  Carlisle  and 
Preston  route,  which  he  had  known  very  well  in  the 
year  1715. 

Wogan  was   at  this   time  little  more  than  a  lad, 
though    full-grown   enough  to   make  a  man   and    a 
good-sized  boy  into  the  bargain,  and  the  exploit  of 
the  Cavalier  Thomas  Wogan,  as  it  had  prompted  his 
design,  so  it  exhilarated  him  in  the  execution.     He 
went    lightly   on   his   way,   weaving   all    manner   of 
chivalric   tales  about  his  ancestor,  to  the  great    in- 
crease of  his  own  vanity,  bethinking  him  when  he 
stopped  for  an  hour  at  a  wayside  inn  that  here,  too, 
perhaps  Thomas  Wogan  had  reined  in  his  horse,  and 
maybe  had  taken  a  draught  from  that  very  pint-pot 
which  Nicholas  now  held  to  his  lips.     Thus  the  late 
burst  up  the  hill-side  above  the  Shiel  was  quickly 
robbed  of  its  sting,  and  by  the  time  that  he  had 
reached  London  he  was  so  come  to  a  pitch  of  con- 
fidence  in  the  high  destinies  of  the  Wogan  family 
that,  after  leaving  his  horse  in  the  charge  of  Mr. 
Gunning,  of  Mussell  Hill,  whom  he  knew  of  old  as  a 
staunch   friend    of    George   Kelly's,    and   borrowing 
from  him  a  more  suitable  raiment  than  his  stained 
travelling  dress,  he  must  needs  walk  down  St.  James's 
Street  with  no  more  disguise  than  the  tilting  of  his 
hat  over  his  nose,  and  the  burying  of  his  chin  in  his 
cravat. 

Soon  Mr,  Wogan's  confidence  and,  with  his  con- 
fidence, his  legs  were  brought  to  a  sudden  check. 
For  when  he  was  come  half-way  down  the  hill  he  saw 
the  figure  of  one  Captain  Montague  in  the  uniform  of 
the  Guards  turn  thecorneroutofRyder  Street  and  walk 
towards  him.     Wogan  had  met  the  officer  before  on 


20  PARSON    KELLv^ 

an  occasion  of  which  he  did  not  wish  at  this  particular 
moment  to  be  reminded.  He  wheeled  about,  took  a 
step  or  two,  and  so  came  again  to  a  halt.  Was  it 
known,  he  asked  himself,  that  he  had  sailed  from  Cadiz 
and  landed  in  Scotland?  If  so,  and  it  was  a  most 
likely  conjecture,  then  for  VVogan  to  be  straggling 
about  St.  James's  Street  was  egregious  impertinence, 
and  the  sooner  he  got  under  shelter  the  better  for  his 
neck.  Now  Wogan's  destination  was  the  lodging  of 
George  Kelly,  not  five  hundred  yards  away,  in  Bury 
Street.  But  to  reach  that  lodging  it  would  be  neces- 
sary for  him  to  turn  about  again  and  face  the  Cap- 
tain. Would  the  Captain  know  him  again?  Wogan 
debated  the  question,  and  finding  no  answer,  asked 
himself  another.  What  would  Thomas  Wogan  have 
done  under  the  like  contingency?  The  answer  to 
that  was  evident  enough.  Wogan  turned  about  on 
the  instant,  cocked  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head, 
took  his  chin  out  of  his  cravat,  twirled  his  cane,  whis- 
tled a  tune  and  sauntered  past  the  Captain,  looking 
him  over  as  if  he  were  so  much  dirt.  The  Captain 
stopped :  Wogan  felt  his  heart  jump  into  his  throat, 
whistled  a  bit  louder,  and  twirled  his  cane  a  trifle 
ferociously.  Over  his  shoulder  he  saw  the  Captain 
draw  his  brows  together  and  rub  a  cheek  with  the 
palm  of  his  hand  like  a  man  perplexed.  The  Captain 
took  a  step  towards  Wogan,  and  stopped  again. 
Wogan  sauntered  on,  expecting  every  moment  to 
hear  his  name  called,  and  a  clattering  run,  and  then 
to  feel  a  heavy  hand  close  upon  his  shoulder.  But 
no  voice  spoke,  no  steps  clattered  on  the  pavement. 
Wogan  reached  the  corner  and  spied  up  St.  James's 
Street  as  he  turned.     The  Captain  was  still  standing 


PARSON    KELLY  21 

in  the  attitude  of  perplexity;  only,  instead  of 
smoothing  his  cheek,  he  had  tilted  his  peruke  aside 
and  was  scratching  his  head  to  ease  the  labour  of  his 
recollections.  At  the  sight  of  him  the  ancestor  and 
his  twenty-eight  Cavaliers  rode  clean  out  of  Mr. 
Wogan's  mind.  '  Sure,  Thomas  would  n't  have  done 
it,  but  Nicholas  will,'  said  he,  and  kicking  up  his 
heels  he  ran.  He  ran  along  Ryder  Street,  turned 
into  Bury  Street,  raced  a  hundred  yards  or  so  up  the 
cobbles,  and  thundered  on  the  door  of  Kelly's  lodg- 
ing. Here  and  there  a  head  was  poked  from  a  win- 
dow, and  Mr.  Wogan  cursed  his  own  noisiness.  It 
seemed  an  age  before  the  door  was  opened.  Fortu- 
nately it  was  Mrs.  Barnes,  Kelly's  landlady,  in  per- 
son, and  not  her  serving-woman,  who  stood  in  the 
entrance. 

'Is  the  Parson  in  London?'  says  Wogan.  'Say 
that  he  is,  Mrs.  Barnes,  and  say  it  quick.' 

'  'Why,  it 's  Mr.  Wogan  !  '  cries  she. 

'  Whisht,  my  dear  woman  !  '  answered  Wogan,  push- 
ing through  the  doorway.  '  It 's  Mr.  Hilton.  There  's 
no  Wogan  anywhere  in  England.  Remember  that, 
if  you  please.' 

Mrs.  Barnes  slammed  the  door  in  a  hurry. 

*  Then  you  are  in  trouble  again,'  said  she,  throwing 
up  her  hands. 

'Well,  there's  nothing  unusual  in  that,'  said  he. 
'  Sure  man  is  born  to  it,  and  who  am  I  that  I  should 
escape  the  inheritance?*  and  he  opened  the  door  of 
Mr.  Kelly's  sitting-room.  He  saw  the  figure  of  a 
man  bending  over  the  table.  As  the  door  was 
thrown  open,  the  figure  straightened  itself  hurriedly. 
There  was  a  sound  of  an  iron  lid  clanging  down  upon 


22  PARSON   KELLY 

a  box,  and  the  sharp  snap  of  a  lock.  George  Kelly 
turned  and  stood  between  the  table  and  the  door,  in 
a  posture  of  defence.     Then  — 

'  Nick !  '  he  cried,  and  grasped  his  friend's  hand. 
The  next  moment  he  let  it  go.  '  What  brings  you 
here? '  he  exclaimed. 

'  My  ancestor,'  said  Wogan,  dropping  into  a  chair. 
'  'Twas  his  spirit  guided  me.' 

'  Then  take  my  word  for  it,'  cried  George,  '  if 
there  's  a  Bedlam  beyond  the  grave  your  ancestor 
inhabits  it.' 

Wogan  made  no  reply  in  words  at  first.  But  he 
rose  stiffly  from  his  chair,  bowed  to  Kelly  with  pro- 
fuse ceremony,  took  his  hat,  and  with  his  hat  a  step 
towards  the  door.  Kelly,  on  the  other  hand,  shut 
the  door,  locked  it,  put  the  key  in  his  pocket  and 
leaned  his  back  against  the  panels.  Wogan  affected 
to  see  nothing  of  these  actions,  but  spoke  in  a  tone 
of  dignity  like  a  man  taking  his  leave. 

'  Such  insults  as  you  are  pleased  to  confer  on  me,' 
said  he,  '  no  doubt  I  deserve,  and  I  take  them  in  all 
Christian  meekness.  But  when  my  ancestor  Thomas 
Wogan,  God  rest  his  soul  for  ever  and  ever,  rode 
with  twenty-eight  Cavaliers  from  Dover  to  Scotland 
through  the  thick  of  his  bloodthirsty  foes  to  carry 
the  succour  of  his  presence  to  the  friends  of  his 
blessed  Majesty  of  sacred  memory  King  Charles  the 
Second,  it  was  not,  I  'd  have  you  know,  Mr.  Kelly,  in 
order  that  his  name  should  be  bespattered  after  he 
was  dead  by  a  snuffling  long-legged  surreptitious 
gawk  of  a  parson  who  was  kicked  out  of  his  Dublin 
pulpit  with  every  circumstance  of  ignominy  because 
his  intellect  did  n't  enable  him  to  compose  a  homily.' 


PARSON    KELLY  23 

At  this  point  VVogan  drew  a  long  breath,  which  he 
sorely  needed.  It  was  not  at  all  truth  that  he  had 
spoken,  as  he  knew — none  better.  The  Parson  was 
indeed  stripped  of  his  gown  because  he  preached  a 
very  fine  homily  on  the  text  of  '  Render  unto  Caesar 
the  things  that  are  Caesar's,'  wherein  he  mingled 
many  timely  and  ingenious  allusions  to  the  Chevalier. 
Nor  was  there  any  particular  force  in  that  epithet 
•  surreptitious,'  beyond  that  it  had  an  abusive  twang. 
Yet  it  was  just  that  word  at  which  Mr.  Kelly  took 
offence. 

'  Surreptitious,'  said  he,  '  and  if  you  please  what  is 
the  meaning  of  that?  ' 

And  then  surveying  Wogan,  he  began  of  a  sudden 
to  smile. 

'  Ta-ta-ta,'  he  said  with  a  grimace. 

*  It  is  a  pretty  though  an  interjectional  wit,'  replied 
Wogan  in  a  high  disdain,  falling  upon  long  words,  as 
was  his  fashion  on  the  rare  occasions  when  he  cloaked 
himself  with  dignity. 

'  Faith,'  continued  George,  with  the  smile  broaden- 
ing over  his  face,  '  but  it  is  indeed  the  very  picture  of 
Christian  meekness,'  and  then,  breaking  into  a  laugh, 
'  Will  you  sit  down,  you  noisy  firebrand.  As  for 
Thomas  Wogan  —  be  damned  to  him  and  to  all  his 
twenty-eight  Cavaliers  into  the  bargain  !  ' 

Mr.  Wogan  will  never  deny  but  what  the  man's 
laugh  was  irresistible,  for  the  Parson's  features  wore 
in  repose  something  of  clerkly  look.  They  were 
cast  in  a  mould  of  Episcopal  gravity;  but  when  he 
laughed  his  blue  eyes  would  lighten  at  you  like  the 
sun  from  a  bank  of  clouds,  and  the  whole  face  of 
him  wrinkled  and  creased  into  smiles,  and  his  mouth 


24  PARSON    KELLY 

shook  a  great  rumbling  laugh  out  of  his  throat,  and 
then  of  a  sudden  you  had  come  into  the  company  of 
a  jolly  man.  Wogan  put  his  hat  on  the  table  and 
struggled  to  preserve  his  countenance  from  any  ex- 
pression of  friendliness. 

*  It  is  the  common  talk  at  the  Cocoa  Tree  that  you 
sailed  from  Cadiz.  It  is  thought  that  you  were  one 
of  the  remnant  at  Glenshiel.  Oh,  the  rumour  of  your 
whereabouts  has  marched  before  you,  and  that  you 
might  have  guessed.  But  see  what  it  is  to  know  no 
Virgil,  and,'  shaking  a  minatory  finger, 

'  Fama,  malum  quo  non  aliud  velocius  ullum.' 

Mr.  Wogan  bowed  before  Latin  like  a  sapling 
before  the  wind.     He  seated  himself  as  he  was  bid. 

*  And  you  must  needs  come  parading  your  mon- 
strous person  through  the  thick  of  London,  like  any 
fashionable  gentleman,'  continued  George.  '  What 
am  I  to  do  with  you?  Why  could  n't  you  lie  quiet 
in  a  village  and  send  me  news  of  you?  Did  you 
meet  any  of  your  acquaintance  by  chance  when 
you  came  visiting  your  friend  Mr.  Kelly?  Perhaps 
you  passed  the  time  of  day  with  Mr.  Walpole  — ' 
and  as  he  spoke  the  name  he  stopped  abruptly.  He 
walked  once  or  twice  across  the  room,  shifting  his 
peruke  from  one  side  of  his  head  to  the  other  in  the 
fluster  of  his  thoughts.  Then  he  paused  before 
Wogan. 

'  Oh,  what  am  I  to  do  with  you?  '  he  cried.  '  Tell 
me  that,  if  you  please.'  But  the  moment  Wogan 
began, 

'  Sure,  George,  it 's  not  you  that  I  will  be  troubling 
for  my  security  ' —  Kelly  cut  in  again  : 


PARSON    KELLY  25 

*  Oh,  if  you  have  nothing  better  to  say  than  that, 
you  say  nothing  at  all.  It  is  dribbling  baby's  talk,' 
and  then  he  repeated  a  question  earnestly.  '  Did  you 
see  anyone  you  knew,  or  rather  did  anyone  that 
knows  you  see  you?' 

'  Why,'  replied  Wogan  meekly,  *I  cannot  quite  tell 
whether  he  knows  me  or  not,  but  to  be  sure  I  ran 
into  the  arms  of  Captain  Montague  not  half  a  dozen 
yards  from  the  corner  of  Ryder  Street. ' 

'Montague!'  exclaimed  Kelly.     Wogan  nodded. 

'  The  man  who  fought  against  you  at  Preston  siege  ?  ' 

'  The  same.' 

'  'T  is  a  pity  you  were  at  so  much  pains  to  save  his 
life  in  that  scuffle.' 

'  Have  n't  I  been  thinking  that  myself? '  asked 
Wogan.  '  If  only  I  had  left  him  lying  outside  the 
barricades,  where  he  would  have  been  surely  killed 
by  the  cross-fire,  instead  of  running  out  and  dragging 
him  in  !  But  it  is  ever  the  way.  Once  do  a  thor- 
oughly good-natured  action  and  you  will  find  it 's  the 
thorn  in  your  side  that  will  turn  and  sting  you.  But 
I  am  not  sure  that  he  knew  me,'  and  he  related  how 
the  Captain  had  stopped  with  an  air  of  perplexed 
recollection,  and  had  then  gone  on  his  way.  Kelly 
listened  to  the  account  with  a  certain  relief. 

'  It  is  likely  that  he  would  not  remember  you. 
For  one  thing,  he  was  wounded  when  you  carried 
him  in,  and  perhaps  gave  little  heed  to  the  features 
of  his  preserver.  Moreover,  you  have  changed, 
Nick,  in  these  years.  You  were  a  stripling  then,  a 
boy  of  fifteen,  and,'  here  he  smiled  and  laid  a  hand 
on  Wogan's  shoulder,  '  you  have  grown  into  a  baby 
in  four  years.' 


26  PARSON    KELLY 

Then  he  took  another  turn  across  the  room. 
'Well,  and  why  not?'  he  said  to  himself,  and  finally 
brought  his  fist  with  a  bang  upon  the  table.  '  I  '11 
hazard  it,'  said  he.  '  I  am  not  sure  but  what  it  is  the 
safest  way,'  and,  drawing  a  chair  close  to  Wogan,  he 
sat  himself  down. 

'  It  was  the  mention  of  Mr.  Walpole  set  me  on  the 
plan,'  he  said.  '  You  heard  in  Paris  that  Lady  Oxford 
is  a  kinsman  of  his.  Well,  I  go  down  to  Lord  Ox- 
ford's in  two  days.  It  is  a  remote  village  in  the 
north  of  Herefordshire.  You  shall  come  with  me  as 
my  secretary.  'Faith,  but  I  shall  figure  in  my  lord's 
eyes  as  a  person  of  the  greatest  importance.' 

Mr.  Wogan  resisted  the  proposal  as  being  of  some 
risk  to  his  friend,  but  Kelly  would  hear  of  no  argu- 
ment. The  plan  grew  on  him,  the  more  he  thought 
of  it.  '  You  can  lie  snug  here  for  the  two  days. 
Mrs.  Barnes  is  to  be  trusted,  devil  a  doubt.  You 
can  travel  down  with  me  in  safety.  I  am  plain  Mr. 
Johnson  here,  engaged  in  smuggling  laces  from  the 
Continent  into  England.  And  once  out  of  London 
there  will  be  little  difficulty  in  shipping  you  out  of 
the  country  until  the  affair  's  blown  over.' 

So  it  was  arranged,  and  Kelly,  looking  at  his 
watch,  says  — 

'  By  my  soul,  I  am  late.  I  should  have  been  with 
my  Lord  of  Rochester  half-an-hour  since.  The 
good  Bishop  will  be  swearing  like  a  dragoon.' 

He  clapped  his  hat  on  his  head,  took  up  his  cane, 
and  marched  to  the  door.  His  hand  was  on  the 
knob,  when  he  turned. 

'  By  the  way,  Nick,  I  have  something  which  be- 
longs to  you.     'T  was  sent  to  my  lodging  in  Paris  by 


PARSON   KELLY  27 

mistake.  I  brought  it  over,  since  I  was  sure  to  set 
eyes  on  you  shortly.' 

*  Ah,'  said  Nick.  '  Then  you  expected  me,  for  all 
your  scolding  and  bullying.' 

'  To  speak  the  honest  truth,  Nick,'  said  Kelly,  with 
a  laugh,  '  I  have  been  expecting  you  all  the  last 
week.' 

He  went  into  his  bedroom,  and  brought  out  the 
strong-box  which  Wogan  had  purchased  in  Paris. 

'  Sure  there  was  no  mistake,'  said  Wogan.  '  I  sent 
it  to  you  as  a  reward  for  your  discretion.' 

*0h,  you  did.  Well,  you  wasted  your  money,  for 
I  have  no  need  for  it.' 

'Nor  I,'  replied  Wogan.  '  But  it  has  a  very  good 
lock,  and  will  serve  to  hold  your  love-letters.' 

Kelly  laughed  carelessly  at  the  careless  words,  and 
laid  the  box  aside  upon  his  scrutore.  Many  a  time 
in  the  months  that  followed  Wogan  saw  it  there,  and 
the  sight  of  it  would  waken  him  to  a  laugh,  for  he 
did  not  know  that  a  man's  liberty,  his  honour,  his 
love,  came  shortly  to  be  locked  within  its  narrow 
space. 


CHAPTER  III 

MR.   WOGAN  INSTRUCTS  THE    IGNORANT   PARSON    IN 
THE  WAYS   OF  WOMEN 

MR.   WOGAN    then    remained    for    two    days 
closeted    in   his  friend's    lodgings,    and    was 
hard  put  to  it  to  pass  the  time,  since  the  Parson,  who 
acted    as  secretary  and   right-hand   man    to   Bishop 
Atterbury,  was    ever  dancing   attendance  upon    his 
lordship  at  Bromley  or  the  Deanery  of  Westminster. 
Wogan  smoked  a  deal  of  tobacco,  and,  knitting  his 
brows,  made  a  strenuous  endeavour  to  peruse  one  of 
George    Kelly's    books  —  a    translation    of    Tally's 
Letter's.     He  did,  indeed,  read  a  complete  page,  and 
then  being   seized  with  a   sudden  vertigo,  such    as 
from  his  extreme  youth  had  prevented  him  from  a 
course  of  study,  was  forced  to  discontinue  his  labours. 
At  this  juncture  Mrs.  Barnes  comforted  him  with  a 
greasy  pack  of  cards,  and  for  the  rest  of  that  day  he 
played    games   of  chance    for   extraordinary  stakes, 
one  hand  against  t'  other,  winning  and  losing  millions 
of  pounds  sterling  in  the  space  of  a  single  hour.     By 
bedtime  he  was  sunk  in  a  plethora  of  wealth  and  an 
extremity  of  destitution  at  one  and  the  same  time; 
and  so,  since  he  saw  no  way  of  setting  the  balance 
right,  he  bethought  him  of  another  plan.     On  the 
morrow   he  would  write    out   a   full    history  of  his 


PARSON    KELLY  29 

ancestors,  as  a  memorial  of  their  valour  and  a  shame 
to  the  men  of  this  age. 

The  Parson,  when  he  was  informed  of  the  notable 
design,  quoted  a  scrap  of  Latin  to  the  effect  that  it 
would  be  something  more  than  a  brazen  proceeding. 
Wogan,  however,  was  not  to  be  dissuaded  by  any  tag 
of  rhyme,  and  getting  up  before  daylight,  since  he 
had  but  this  one  day  for  the  enterprise,  was  at  once 
very  busy  with  all  of  Kelly's  spluttering  pens.  He 
began  with  the  founder  of  the  family,  the  great 
Chevalier  Ugus,  who  lived  in  the  time  of  my  little 
Octavius  Caesar,  and  was  commissioned  by  that  un- 
paralleled monarch  to  build  the  town  of  Florence. 
'  Ugus,'  wrote  Mr.  Wogan  in  big  round  painful  letters 
with  a  flourish  to  each,  and,  coming  to  a  stop,  woke 
up  George  Kelly  to  ask  him  in  what  year  of  Our 
Lord  Octavius  Caesar  was  born  into  this  weary  world. 
'  In  no  year  of  Our  Lord,'  grumbled  George,  a  little 
churlishly  to  VVogan's  thinking,  who  went  back  to 
his  desk,  and  taking  up  a  new  pen  again  wrote 
'  Ugus.'  Thereupon  he  fell  into  a  great  profundity 
of  thought;  so  many  philosophic  reflections  crowded 
into  his  head  while  he  nibbled  his  pen,  as  he  felt  sure 
must  visibly  raise  him  in  the  estimation  of  his  friends. 
So,  taking  his  candle  in  one  hand  and  his  pen  in  the 
other,  he  came  a  second  time  to  Kelly's  bedside  and 
sat  him  down  heavily  upon  his  legs,  the  better  to 
ensure  his  awakening.  It  is  to  be  admitted  that  this 
time  the  Parson  sat  up  in  his  bed,  and  swore  with  all 
the  volubility  of  a  dragoon  or  even  of  my  Lord 
Bishop  of  Rochester.  But  Wogan  smiled  amiably, 
knowing  when  he  communicated  his  thoughts  how 
soon  those  oaths  would  turn  to  cries  of  admiration. 


30  PARSON    KELLY 

'It  is  a  very  curious  thing,'  said  Wogan,  shifting 
himself  a  little  so  that  Kelly's  shins  should  not  press 
so  sharply,  '  how  the  mere  inking  of  one's  fingers 
produces  speculation.  Just  as  great  valorous  deeds 
are  the  consequence  of  swords,'  here  he  paused  to 
snuff  the  candle  with  his  fingers,  '  so  great  philosophic 
thoughts  are  the  consequence  of  pens.  Put  a  sword 
in  a  man's  hand  !  What  does  he  want  to  do  but  cut 
his  neighbour  right  open  from  the  chine  to  the  ribs? 
Put  a  pen  between  his  fingers,  on  the  other  hand,  and 
what  does  he  want  to  do  but  go  away  by  himself  and 
write  down  great  thoughts?  ' 

'  Then,  in  Heaven's  name,  why  don't  you  do  it?' 
cried  George. 

'  Because,  my  friend,'  replied  Wogan,  '  out  of  the 
great  love  I  bear  for  you,  I  shall  always,  always  com- 
municate my  thoughts  first  of  all  to  you.'  Here  the 
Parson  groaned  like  a  man  giving  up  the  ghost,  and 
Wogan  continued : 

'  For  instance,  you  have  doubtless  heard  of  my 
illustrious  forbear  the  Chevalier  Ugus.'  At  this 
Kelly  tried  to  turn  on  his  side ;  but  he  could  not  do 
so,  since  his  legs  were  pinned  beneath  Wogan's 
weight.  '  The  Chevalier  Ugus,'  repeated  Wogan, 
'  who  built  and  beautified  the  city  of  Florence  to  the 
glory  of  God  in  the  reign  of  the  Emperor  Octavius. 
How  many  of  the  English  have  loitered  in  the  colon- 
nades, and  feasted  their  eyes  upon  the  cathedral,  and 
sauntered  on  the  bridges  of  the  Arno?  How  many 
of  them,  I  say,  have  drawn  profitable  thoughts  and 
pleasurable  sensations  from  the  edifices  of  my  great 
ancestor?  And  yet  not  one  of  them  —  if  poor 
Nicholas  Wogan,  his  degenerate  son,  were  to  poke 


PARSON    KELLY  31 

his  nose  outside  of  Mrs.  Barnes's  front  door  —  not  one 
of  them  but  would  truss  him  hands  and  heels  and 
hang  him  up  to  derision  upon  a  nasty  gibbet.' 

So  far  Wogan  had  flowed  on  when  a  sigh  from 
Kelly's  lips  brought  him  to  a  pause.  He  leaned  for- 
ward and  held  the  candle  so  that  the  light  fell  upon 
Kelly's  face.     Kelly  was  sound  asleep. 

'  To  be  sure,'  said  Wogan  in  a  soft  voice  of  pity,  on 
the  chance  that  Kelly  might  be  counterfeiting  slumber, 
'  my  little  friend  's  jealous  of  my  reflective  powers,'  and 
going  back  to  his  chair  wrote  '  Ugus  '  a  third  time  with 
a  third  pen ;  and  then,  in  order  to  think  the  more  clearly, 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  table  and  closed  his  eyes. 

It  was  Mrs.  Barnes's  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  some 
three  hours  afterwards,  which  roused  him  from  his  so 
deep  reflections,  and  to  a  man  in  Wogan's  course  of 
life  the  shoulder  is  a  most  sensitive  member.  She 
took  the  paper,  whereon  the  great  name  was  thrice 
inscribed,  very  daintily  between  her  forefinger  and 
thumb,  as  though  she  touched  pitch;  folded  it  once, 
twice,  thrice,  and  set  it  on  the  mantelshelf.  There 
Mr.  Kelly,  coming  into  the  room  for  breakfast,  dis- 
covered it,  hummed  a  little  to  himself  like  a  man  well 
pleased,  and  turned  over  the  leaf  to  see  what  was 
written  t'  other  side. 

'  That  is  all,'  said  Wogan,  indifl"erently. 

'  And  it  is  a  very  good  night's  work,'  replied  Kelly, 
with  the  politest  gravity,  'not  a  letter —  and  there  are 
precisely  twelve  of  them  in  all  —  but  is  writ  with 
scrupulous  correctness.  Such  flourishes,  too,  are 
seldom  seen.  I  cannot  call  to  mind  that  ever  I  saw  a 
g  so  pictorially  displayed.  Ugus  —  Ugus  —  Ugus  — ' 
and  he  held  the  paper  out  at  arm's  length. 


32 


PARSON    KELLY 


'  I  went  no  further  with  my  work,'  explained  Wogan, 
'  because  I  reflected  —  ' 

'What,  again?'  asked  the  Parson  in  a  voice  of  con- 
dolence. 

'  That  the  mere  enunciation  of  the  name  Ugus  gives 
an  epitome  of  the  Wogan  family.' 

'  Indeed,  it  gives  a  history  in  full,'  said  the  Parson. 

'  It  comprises  — ' 

'  Nay,  it  conveys  — ' 

'  All  that  need  be  known  of  the  Wogan  family.' 

'  All  that  need  be  known,  indeed,  and  perhaps 
more,'  added  George  with  the  air  of  a  man  turning  a 
compliment.  Mr.  Wogan  was  sensibly  flattered,  and 
took  his  friend's  words  as  an  apology  for  that  disre- 
spect which  he  had  shown  towards  Thomas  Wogan 
two  days  before,  and  the  pair  seated  themselves  to 
breakfast  in  the  best  of  good  humour. 

'  We  start  at  nine  of  the  evening,'  said  George.  '  I 
have  commanded  a  sober  suit  of  grey  cloth  for  you, 
Nick,  since  you  cannot  squeeze  into  my  coats,  and  it 
should  be  here  by  now.  Meanwhile,  I  leave  you  to 
Mrs.  Barnes's  attentions.' 

Of  these  attentions  Mrs.  Barnes  was  by  no  means 
sparing.  For  the  buxom  widow  of  the  bookseller, 
who,  to  her  credit  be  it  said,  had  her  full  share  of 
good  looks,  joined  to  an  admirable  warmth  of  heart  a 
less  adorable  curiosity.  With  the  best  intentions  in 
the  world  for  her  lodgers'  security,  she  was  always 
prying  into  their  secrets.  Nor  did  she  always  hold 
her  tongue  outside  her  own  doors,  as  Mr.  Kelly  had 
bitter  reason  afterwards  to  know.  In  a  word,  she  had 
all  the  inquisitiveness  of  her  class,  and  sufficient  wiles 
to  make  that  inquisitiveness  difficult  to  parry.     Not 


PARSON    KELLY  ^3 

that  Nicholas  Wogan  was  at  all  troubled  upon  this 
score,  for  if  there  was  one  quality  upon  which  the 
good  man  prided  himself,  it  was  his  comprehension 
of  the  sex.  '  Woman,'  he  would  say  with  a  senten- 
tious pursing  of  the  lips  and  a  nod  of  the  head ;  and 
again  '  woman,'  and  so  drop  into  silence ;  as  who 
should  say,  '  Here  's  a  nut  I  could  show  you  the  ker- 
nel of  were  I  so  disposed.' 

This  morning,  however,  Mrs.  Barnes  made  no  de- 
mand upon  Wogan's  cunning.  For  she  took  the 
paper  with  the  thrice  iterated  Ugus  which  the  Parson 
had  replaced  upon  the  mantelshelf,  and,  with  the  same 
gingerly  precautions  as  she  had  used  in  touching  it 
before,  dropped  it  into  the  fire. 

*  And  why  that?  '  asked  Wogan. 
Mrs.  Barnes  flung  out  at  him  in  reply 

'  I  have  no  patience  with  you,'  she  cried.  '  What'  s 
Ugus,  Mr.  Wogan?  Answer  me  that,'  and  she  struck 
her  arms  akimbo.  'What's  Ugus  but  one  of  your 
cypher  words,  and  you  must  needs  stick  it  up  on  your 
mantelshelf  for  all  the  world  to  see?' 

*  It 's  no  cypher  word  at  all,"  replied  Wogan  with 
a  laugh. 

'What  is  it  then?'  said  she. 

'  My  dear  woman,  the  merest  mare's  nest,'  said 
he. 

'  Oh,  you  may  "  dear  woman  "  me,'  cried  she,  and 
sat  herself  down  in  a  chair,  'and  you  may  laugh  at  a 
woman's  fears ;  but,  good  lack,  it  was  a  bad  day 
when  Mr.  Kelly  first  found  a  lodging  here.  What 
with  his  plottings  here  and  his  plottings  there,  it  will 
be  a  fortunate  thing  if  he  doesn't  plot  us  all  into  our 
graves.' 


34  PARSON    KELLY 

'  Whisht,'  interrupted  VVogan.  '  There  are  no  plots 
at  all,  any  more  than  there'  s  sense  in  your  talk.' 

But  the  woman's  eloquence  was  not  so  easily 
stemmed. 

'  Then  if  there  are  no  plots,  why  is  Mr.  Kelly  "  Mr. 
Johnson,"  why  is  Mr.  Wogan  "Mr.  Hilton";  and 
why,  oh  why,  am  I  in  danger  of  my  life  and  liberty, 
and  in  peril  of  my  immortal  soul?' 

'  Sure  you  are  bubbled  with  your  fears,'  answered 
VVogan.  '  It  is  sufficiently  well  known  that  since  Mr. 
George  Kelly  ceased  to  minister  to  souls  he  has 
adopted  the  more  lucrative  profession  of  a  lace  mer- 
chant. There  's  some  secrecy  no  doubt  in  his  comings 
and  goings,  but  that  is  because  he  is  most  honourably 
engaged  in  defrauding  the  revenue.' 

'  A  pretty  lace  merchant,  upon  my  soul,'  said  she, 
and  she  began  to  rock  her  body  to  and  fro.  The 
sight  alarmed  Nicholas  Wogan,  since  he  knew  the 
movement  to  be  a  premonition  of  tears.  '  A  lace 
merchant  who  writes  letters  in  Latin,  and  rides  in  the 
Bishop  of  Rochester's  coach,  and  goes  a-visiting  my 
Lord  Oxford  in  the  country.  Thirteen  shillings  have 
I  paid  for  letters  in  one  day.  Laces,  forsooth !  It  is 
hempen  ropes  the  poor  gentleman  travels  in,  and 
never  was  a  man  so  eager  to  fit  them  to  his  own 
neck.'  And,  at  the  affecting  prospect  which  her 
words  called  up,  the  good  woman  lifted  her  apron  to 
her  eyes  and  forthwith  dissolved  into  tears.  Sobs 
tore  her  ample  bosom,  her  soft  frame  quivered  like  a 
jelly.  Never  did  Mr.  Wogan  find  his  intimate  knowl- 
edge of  the  sex  of  more  inestimable  value.  He 
crossed  the  room ;  he  took  one  plump  hand  into  his 
left  palm  and  gently  cherished  it  with  his  right.    The 


PARSON    KELLY  35 

tears  diminished  to  a  whimpering.  He  cooed  a  com- 
pHment  into  Mrs.  Barnes's  ear,  '  A  little  white  dove 
of  a  hand  in  a  brown  nest,  my  dear  woman,'  said  he, 
and  affectionately  tweaked  her  ear.  Even  the  whim- 
pering ceased,  but  ceased  under  protest !  For  Mrs. 
Barnes  began  to  speak  again.  Wogan,  however, 
kissed  the  tearful  eyes  and  sealed  them  in  content. 

'Hoity-toity,  here's  a  set  out,'  he  said, 'because 
my  Lord  Oxford  wants  a  pair  of  Venice  ruffles  to  hide 
his  gouty  fingers,  or  a  new  mantilla  for  his  new 
spouse,'  and  so,  softly  chiding  her,  he  pushed  her  out 
of  the  room. 

At  nine  o'clock  to  the  minute  the  chaise  drove  up 
to  the  door.  Mr.  Kelly  took  a  stroll  along  the  street 
to  see  the  coast  was  clear;  Mrs.  Barnes  was  in  two 
minds  whether  to  weep  at  losing  her  lodgers,  or  to 
smile  at  their  prospects  of  security,  and  compromised 
between  her  emotions  by  indulging  them  alternately; 
and  finally  the  two  friends  in  burgess  dress  entered 
the  chaise  and  drove  off.  Mr.  Wogan  thrust  his  head 
half  out  of  the  window,  the  better  to  take  his  fill  of 
the  cool  night  air,  but  drew  it  back  something  of  the 
suddenest  at  the  corner  where  Ryder  Street  debouches 
into  St.  James's. 

'  Sure  the  man  's  a  spy,'  said  he,  flinging  himself 
back.  Parson  Kelly  leaned  cautiously  forward,  and 
under  an  oil-lamp  above  the  porch  of  a  door  he  saw 
Captain  Montague.  The  Captain  was  standing  in  an 
indecisive  attitude,  tapping  with  his  stick  upon  the 
pavement  and  looking  up  and  down  the  street. 

'  I  doubt  it,'  returned  Kelly.  '  I  have  ever  heard 
he  was  the  most  scrupulous  gentleman.' 

'But  he's  a  Whig.     A  Whig  and  a  gentleman!. 


36  PARSON   KELLY 

But  it's  a  contradiction  in  terms.  Whigging  is  a 
nasty  insupportable  trade,  and  infects  a  man  like  a 
poison.  A  Whig  is  a  sort  of  third  sex  by  itself  that 
combines  all  the  failings  of  the  other  two.* 

However,  this  time  it  was  evident  that  Captain 
Montague  had  taken  no  note  of  Nicholas  Wogan. 
He  could  not  but  reflect  how  it  was  at  this  very  spot 
that  he  had  come  upon  the  captain  before,  and 
mighty  glad  he  was  when  the  lights  of  Knightsbridge 
had  sunk  behind  them,  and  they  were  driving  betwixt 
the  hedgerows.  Then  at  one  spring  he  jumped  to 
the  top  of  his  spirits. 

'  George,  what  a  night !  '  cries  he.  *  Sure  I  was 
never  designed  to  live  in  a  house  at  all,  but  to  be 
entirely  happy  under  the  blue  roof-tree  of  the  sky. 
Put  me  out  on  a  good  road  at  night  and  the  whole 
universe  converses  with  me  on  the  most  familiar 
terms.  Perhaps  it 's  a  bush  that  throws  out  a  tendril 
and  says,  '  Smell  that,  you  devil,  and  good  luck  to 
you.'  Or,  maybe  it's  the  stars  that  wink  at  me  and 
say,  '  Here's  a  world  for  you,  Nick,  my  little  friend. 
Only  wait  a  moment,  and  we  '11  show  you  a  bit  of  a 
moon  that'll  make  a  poet  of  you.'  Then  up  comes 
the  moon,  perhaps,  in  a  crescent  like  a  wisp  of  fire, 
and,  says  she,  '  It 's  all  very  well  here,  Nicholas,  but 
take  my  word  for  it,  I  can  show  you  as  good  on  the 
sea  and  better.  For  you  '11  have  all  this,  and  the  hiss 
of  the  water  under  your  Ice  besides,  and  the  little 
bubbles  dancing  on  the  top.  But  what  troubles  you, 
George? ' 

But  Kelly  made  little  or  no  reply,  being  sunk  in 
the  consideration  of  some  difficulty.  For  two  days 
he  remained  closeted  with  his  trouble,  and  it  was  not 


PARSON    KELLY  37 

until  they  had  got  to  Worcester  that  he  discovered 
it.  They  changed  horses  at  the  '  Dog  and  Turk '  and 
drove  through  the  town  under  the  Abbey  clock. 

'It  is  five  minutes  to  twelve,'  said  VVogan,  looking 
at  the  clock. 

*  Yes,'  said  Kelly  with  a  sigh,  '  the  face  is  very  plain 
to  read.'     Then  he  sighed  again. 

*  Now,  if  the  clock  were  a  woman,'  said  he,  '  it 
might  be  half-past  four  and  we  still  thinking  it  five 
minutes  to  twelve.' 

'  Oh,  is  it  there  you  are? '  said  Wogan. 

'  Why,  yes,'  replied  Kelly.  '  Lord  Oxford,  do  you 
see,  Nick,  is  a  half-hearted  sort  of  trembler  —  that 
we  know  and  are  ready  for  him.  But  what  of  my 
lady?' 

Wogan  crossed  his  legs  and  laughed  comfortably. 
Here  was  matter  with  which  he  could  confidently 
deal, 

*  Well,  what  of  her?  '  he  asked. 

'You  heard  what  Fanny  Oglethorpe  said.  She  is 
a  kinswoman  of  Mr.  Walpole's.  How  shall  we  be 
sure  of  her  at  all?  A  woman,  Nick,  is  a  creature 
who  walks  in  the  byways  of  thought.  How  shall  an 
obtuse  man  follow  her?' 

Wogan  took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

*  It  is  very  well,  George,'  said  he,  '  that  I  took  this 
journey  with  you.  I  '11  make  your  conduct  plain  to 
you  as  the  palm  of  my  hand.  In  the  first  place, 
there  was  never  a  woman  yet  from  Cleopatra  down- 
wards that  cared  the  scrape  of  a  fiddle  for  politics. 
'Twas  never  more  than  a  path  that  led  to  something 
else,  and  is  held  of  just  as  small  account  as  the  road 
a  girl  dances  down  when  she  goes  to  meet  her  lover. 


38  PARSON    KELLY 

Look  at  Fanny  Oglethorpe,  Olive  Trant,  and  the  rest 
of  them  in  Paris!  D' you  think  it's  the  Cause  they 
ever  give  a  thought  to?  If  you  do  you  're  sadly  out, 
my  friend.  No  ;  what  troubles  their  heads  is  simply 
that  the  Chevalier  is  a  romantical  figure  of  a  man, 
and  would  look  extraordinarily  well  with  a  gold 
crown  on  the  top  of  his  periwig.  Now  I  'm  wagering 
it  will  be  just  the  same  with  my  Lady  Oxford.  You 
have  all  the  qualifications  down  to  your  legs,  and  let 
my  lady  once  take  a  liking  to  your  person  she  will 
gulp  your  politics  without  a  grimace.' 

Mr.  Kelly  turned  a  startled  face  towards  his  in- 
structor. 

*  You  would  have  me  pay  court  to  her? '  says  he. 

'Just  that,'  says  VVogan,  imperturbably.  'Keep 
your  politics  for  my  lord  and  have  a  soft  word  ready 
for  my  lady.  Pen  her  a  delicate  ode  in  Latin.  To 
be  sure  the  addresses  of  an  erudite  man  have  some- 
thing particularly  flattering  to  the  sex.  Or  drop  out 
a  pretty  compliment  on  her  ear.' 

'Oh,  on  her  ear?'  said  Kelly,  beginning  to  smile. 
'Of  what  sort?' 

'  Faith,  George,  but  you  exasperate  me,'  said  Nick. 
'Isn't  there  an  infinity  of  images  you  could  use? 
For  instance  — ,'  said  he,  and  hummed  a  little. 

'  Well,  for  instance !  '  said  Kelly,  urging  him  on. 

'For  instance,'  returned  Wogan,  'you  can  speak  of 
its  functions  — ' 

'  I  understand.  I  am  to  tell  her  that  it  is  a  very 
proper  thing  for  a  woman  to  sit  and  listen  to  other 
people.' 

'Tell  her  that,'  cries  Wogan,  lifting  up  his  hands, 
'  and  you  will  be  drubbed  down  the  staircase  pretty 


PARSON   KELLY  39 

quick!  No.  Tell  her  there  is  never  a  poet  laureate 
in  the  world  would  print  a  single  one  of  his  poems  if 
he  could  treasure  his  music  within  her  ear.' 

'  Ah,'  says  Kelly.  'That  is  a  compliment  of  quite 
a  different  kind,'  and  he  repeated  it  three  times  to 
commit  it  to  memory.  *  But  one,  Nick,  will  not 
suffice.     I  must  have  more  sayings  about  her  ear.' 

'And  you  shall,'  says  Wogan.  'You  can  speak 
of  its  appearance.' 

'  Of  its  aopearance?  ' 

'And  fit  a  simile  to  it.' 

*  Give  me  one,'  said  Kelly. 

'  You  can  say  her  ear  is  like  a  rosy  shell  on  the 
sea-banks.' 

Mr.  Kelly  began  to  laugh  outright. 

'  Sure/  said  he,  '  I  might  as  well  tell  her  at  once 
her  hair  is  sandy.' 

'  Oh,  she  will  not  examine  your  words  so  nicely. 
She  will  just  perceive  that  you  intend  a  compliment' 

'  And  take  me  for  a  very  impertinent  fellow.' 

'  George '  said  Wogan,  '  for  a  parson  you  are  a 
man  of  a  most  unnatural  modesty.'  In  which  remark 
Wosan  did  his  friend  no  more  than  the  merest 
justice.  For  he  had  nothing  in  common  with  that 
usual  foible  of  the  young  chaplains  and  tutors  who 
frequent  the  houses  of  the  great. 

To  listen  to  them  over  a  bottle  you  would  think 
them  conquerors  of  all  hearts,  from  the  still-room 
maid  to  my  lady  and  her  daughters.  But  Mr.  Kelly 
was  in  a  different  case.  The  Bishop  of  Rochester 
himself  gave  him  the  character  of  being  prudent  and 
reserved  beyond  his  years.  And  perhaps  it  was  by 
reason  of  that  very  modesty  that  he  slid  insensibly 


40  PARSON    KELLY 

into  the  thoughts  of  more  women  than  he  knew  of. 
Of  these,  however,  Lady  Oxford  was  not  one. 

It  was  about  three  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day 
when  the  chaise  drove  up  to  the  door  of  the  great 
house  at  Brampton  Bryan.  The  Parson  and  Nicholas 
Wogan  had  barely  stepped  into  the  hall  before  an 
inner  door  opened  and  my  lady  came  forward  to 
greet  them.  She  was  for  her  sex  uncommonly  tall, 
and  altogether  of  a  conquering  beauty,  which  a 
simple  country  dress  did  but  the  more  plainly  set 
forth.  For,  seeing  her,  one  thought  what  a  royal 
woman  she  would  look  if  royally  attired,  and  so  came 
to  a  due  appreciation  of  her  consummate  appearance. 
Whereas,  had  she  been  royally  attired,  her  dress 
might  have  taken  some  of  the  credit  of  her  beauty. 
She  stood  for  a  second  between  the  two  men,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  as  though  in  doubt. 

'  And  which  is  Mr.  James  Johnson?  '  said  she,  with 
a  sly  emphasis  upon  the  name. 

'  I  am,'  said  George,  stepping  forward,  '  and  your 
Ladyship's  humble  servant.' 

She  gave  him  a  smile  and  her  hand.  Mr.  Kelly 
clicked  his  heels  together,  bent  over  the  hand  and 
kissed  it  reverentially. 

The  lady  sighed  a  quick  little  sigh  (of  pleasure) 
as  she  drew  her  hand  away. 

*  I  have  taken  the  liberty,  your  Ladyship,'  said 
Kelly,  *  to  bring  my  secretary,  Mr.  Hilton,  with  me,' 
and  he  waved  a  hand  towards  Wogan. 

'  Mr.  Hilton,'  she  returned,  '  is  very  welcome.  For, 
indeed,  we  hear  too  few  voices  in  the  house.'  She 
bowed  very  graciously,  but  she  did  not  give  her  hand 
to    Mr.  Wogan.     '  Gentlemen,'   she    continued,   '  my 


PARSON    KELLY  41 

lord   bids  me  make   you   his  apologies,   but    he  lies 
abed.     Else  would  he  have  welcomed  you  in  person.' 
'Your  Ladyship,' said  Kelly,   'if  we  come  at  an 
inopportune  time  — ' 

*  By  no  means,'  interrupted  Lady  Oxford.  '  My 
lord  is  troubled  with  the  gout,  but  the  fit  is  passing. 
And  if  for  a  couple  of  days  my  poor  hospitality  will 
content  you  — ' 

'  Your  Ladyship,'  protested  Kelly,  but  that  was  all 
he  said.  Now,  to  Mr.  Wogan's  thinking,  here  was  as 
timely  an  occasion  for  a  compliment  as  a  man  could 
wish.  And  since  Mr.  Kelly  had  not  the  tact  to  seize 
it,  why,  his  friend  must  come  to  his  help.  Accord- 
ingly, 

*  So  might  the  holy  angels  apologise  when  they 
bpen  the  gates  of  Paradise,'  said  Wogan  with  his 
hand  on  his  heart,  and  bowed.  As  he  bowed  he 
heard  some  stifled  sounds,  and  he  looked  up  quickly. 
My  lady  was  crimson  in  the  face  with  the  effort  to 
check  her  laughter. 

'  Mr.  Hilton  is  too  polite,'  said  she  instantly,  with 
an  elaborate  courtesy,  and  turned  again  to  Kelly 
with  some  inquiries  about  his  journey.  Wogan  was 
shown  up  the  stairs  before  the  inquiries  were  answered. 
The  staircase  ran  round  the  three  sides  of  the  hall 
up  to  a  landing  on  the  fourth,  and  as  Wogan  came 
to  the  first  turn  he  saw  Lady  Oxford  cross  to  the 
great  wood  fire  which  was  burning  on  the  hearth ; 
when  he  came  to  the  second  he  saw  that  the  Parson 
had  crossed  too  and  stood  over  against  her ;  when 
he  reached  the  third  turn,  my  lady  was  seated  toasting 
a  foot  at  the  blaze ;  when  he  reached  the  landing, 
Mr.  Kelly  had  drawn   up   a  chair. 


42  PARSON   KELLY 

Wogan  leaned  for  a  moment  over  the  balustrade. 
It  was  a  very  small  foot  with  an  admirably  arched 
instep ;  Mr,  Wogan  had  seen  the  like  in  Spain. 
Well,  very  likely  she  only  thrust  it  out  to  warm  it. 
The  firelight  coloured  her  face  to  a  pretty  rose  hue, 
sparkled  in  her  dark  eyes,  and  searched  out  the  gold 
threads  in  her  brown  hair.  Mr.  Wogan  was  much 
tempted  to  whisper  a  reminder  to  his  friend  concern- 
ing her  ear.  But  he  resisted  the  temptation,  for 
after  all  it  seemed  there  would  be  little  to  do  about 
my  lady's  politics. 


CHAPTER   IV 

SHOWS  THE   EXTREME   DANGER  OF   KNOWING   LATIN 

AN  hour  later  the  three  sat  down  to  dinner, 
though,  for  all  the  talking  that  one  of  them 
did,  there  might  have  been  present  only  the  two 
whom  Wogan  had  left  chatting  in  the  hall.  It  was 
not  that  Lady  Oxford  omitted  any  proper  courtesy 
towards  Mr.  Johnson's  secretary,  but  the  secretary 
himself,  sensible  that  he  was  something  too  apt  to 
say  in  all  companies  just  what  came  into  his  head, 
was  careful  to  keep  his  tongue  in  a  strict  leash,  lest  an 
inconvenient  word  should  slip  from  him.  His  defi- 
ciency, however,  was  not  remarked.  Lady  Oxford 
was  young,  and  for  all  that  my  lord  lay  upstairs  in  a 
paroxysm  of  the  gout,  she  was  in  the  highest  feather ; 
she  rattled  from  course  to  course,  plying  Mr.  Kelly 
with  innumerable  questions  as  to  the  latest  tittle- 
tattle  of  the  tea-parties,  and  whether  Lady  Mary 
Wortley  and  Mr.  Pope  were  still  the  best  of  friends. 
*  Then  your  Ladyship  is  acquainted  with  Lady 
Mary?'  says  Kelly,  looking  up  with  some  eagerness. 
For  Lady  Mary,  then  a  toast  among  the  wits  and  a 
wit  among  the  toasts,  was  glanced  at  by  some 
tongues  as  if,  being  sister  to  the  Duchess  of  Mar,  she 
was  not  of  the  most  loyal  to  the  Elector.     The  Duke 


44  PARSON    KELLY 

of  Mar  was  still  Secretary  to  King  James  over  the 
water. 

'  Without  doubt,'  returned  Lady  Oxford.  *  Lady 
Mary  is  my  bosom  friend.  The  dear  malicious 
creature!  What  is  her  latest  quip?  Tell  me,  Mr. 
Johnson,  I  die  to  hear  it.  Or  rather  whisper  it.  It 
will  be  too  deliciously  cruel  for  loud  speaking.  Lady 
Mary's  witticisms,  I  think,  should  always  be  spoken 
in  a  low  voice,  with  a  suggestive  nod  and  a  tap  of 
the  forefinger  on  the  table,  so  that  one  may  not  mis- 
take where  the  sting  lies.  Not  that  the  sayings  are 
in  themselves  at  all  clumsy  —  how  could  they  be, 
when  she  has  such  clever  friends?  But  they  gain 
much  from  a  mysterious  telling  of  them.  You  agree 
with  me?  ' 

It  was  evident  that  Lady  Oxford  wasted  no  love 
on  Lady  Mary,  and  Kelly's  face  fell. 

'  Your  ladyship,'  he  replied,  '  though  I  have  no 
claims  to  be  considered  clever,  I  have  the  honour  to 
be  ranked  amongst  her  friends.' 

*  Indeed !  '  said  she  with  a  light  laugh  at  the 
rebuff,  *  No  doubt  you  have  brought  her  some  of 
your  laces  and  brocades  from  France,  Mr.  —  John- 
son.'    She  paused  slyly  upon  the  name. 

Kelly  glanced  quickly  at  her,  their  eyes  met,  and 
the  lady  laughed.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  she 
knew  something  of  Kelly's  business.  Indeed,  she 
would  hardly  have  asked  him  for  the  fashionable 
gossip  at  all  had  she  taken  him  for  just  what  he 
represented  himself  to  be.  Wogan  put  his  foot  on  his 
friend's  pretty  heavily,  and,  he  knows  not  how,  en- 
countered her  ladyship's.  To  his  horror.  Lady  Oxford 
made  a  moan  of  pain.     Kelly  starts  up  in  a  hurry. 


PARSON    KELLY  45 

*  Your  ladyship  is  unwell,'  says  he,  and  bids  the 
servant  bring  a  bottle  of  salts. 

'  No,'  she  replied  with  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  her 
eyes  full  of  tears,  *  but  your  secretary  has  dropped  a 
blot  on  the  wrong  paper.' 

*  Your  ladyship,'  cried  Wogan  in  an  extremity  of 
confusion,  '  it  was  the  most  miserable  accident, 
believe  me,  A  spasm  in  the  leg,  madam,  the  con- 
sequence of  a  sabre  cut  across  the  calf,'  he  explained, 
making  the  matter  worse. 

'  Oh,  and  in  what  battle  was  Mr.  Johnson's  secretary 
wounded?  '  she  said,  taking  him  up  on  the  instant. 

*  In  a  struggle  with  the  Preventive  men,'  replied 
Wogan  hurriedly,  and  he  too  broke  off  with  a  wry 
face,  for  Mr.  Johnson  was  warning  him  and  with  no 
less  vigour.  Before  he  knew  what  he  was  doing 
Wogan  had  stooped  down  and  begun  to  rub  his  leg. 
Lady  Oxford's  smile  became  a  laugh. 

'  To  be  sure,'  said  she,  '  and  I  think  Mr.  Johnson 
must  have  been  wounded  too,  in  just  that  same  way, 
and  in  just  that  same  encounter.' 

'Faith,  madam,'  said  Kelly, 'the  smuggling  trade 
is  a  hard  one.  No  man  engages  in  it  but  sooner  or 
later  he  gets  a  knock  that  leaves  its  mark.' 

Lady  Oxford  expressed  the  profoundest  sympathy 
with  a  great  deal  of  disbelief;  and  when  her  ladyship 
left  her  guests  to  their  wine,  they  looked  at  one 
another  across  the  table. 

'  Well,'  said  Wogan  cheerfully,  '  if  my  Lady  Ox- 
ford is  in  Mr.  Walpole's  interest  we  have  not  made 
the  best  beginning  in  the  world,'  and  in  a  little  he 
went  off  to  smoke  a  pipe  in  the  stables. 

Kelly  withdrew  to  the  great  library,  and  had  not 


46  PARSON    KELLY 

been  there  many  minutes  before  Lady  Oxford  came 
in.  It  seemed  she  did  not  see  him  at  the  first, 
although  he  sat  bent  up  over  the  fire  and  his  shadow 
huge  upon  the  walls.  Mr.  Kelly  certainly  did  not 
remark  her  entrance.  For  one  thing,  he  was  ab- 
sorbed in  his  book;  for  another,  the  carpet  was  thick 
and  the  lady's  step  of  the  lightest.  She  went  first 
to  the  bookcase,  then  she  crossed  the  room  and 
shuffled  some  papers  on  a  table,  then  she  knocked 
against  a  chair,  the  chair  knocked  against  the  table, 
and  at  the  noise  Kelly  looked  up.  He  rose  to  his 
feet.  Lady  Oxford  turned  round,  started,  and 
uttered  a  sharp  little  cry. 

*  My  lady,'  began  Mr.  Kelly. 

*  Oh,  it  is  you,  Mr.  Johnson,'  she  broke  in  with 
a  hand  to  her  heart,  and  dropped  into  the  chair.  '  I 
believe,'  she  said  with  a  broken  laugh,  '  I  was  foolish 
enough  to  be  frightened.  I  fancied  you  had  gone 
with  your  friend  to  the  stables,'  which  was  as  much 
as  to  say  that  she  knew  he  had  not.  Kelly  com- 
menced an  apology  for  so  disordering  her,  but  she 
would  not  listen  to  it. 

"  No,'  she  said,  'it  is  I  that  am  to  be  blamed. 
Indeed,  such  stupid  fears  need  chiding.  But  in  a 
house  so  lonely  and  silent  they  grow  on  one  insen- 
sibly. Indeed,  I  have  known  the  mere  creak  of  the 
stairs  keep  me  awake  in  terror  half  the  night.' 

She  spoke  with  the  air  of  one  gently  railing  at  her 
own  distress,  but  shivered  a  little  to  prove  the  dis- 
tress genuine,  and  Kelly,  as  he  looked  at  her,  felt  a 
sudden  pang  of  pity. 

'  Your  place,  my  lady,  is  not  here,'  he  cried,  *  but 
in  the  Mall,  at  the   Spring   Gardens,  in  the  lighted 


PARSON    KELLY  47 

theatres,  when  even  your  ladyship's  own  sex  would 
pay  you  homage  for  outrivalling  them.' 

'  Nay,'  she  replied,  with  the  sweetest  smile  of 
reproof,  'you  go  too  fast,  Mr.  Johnson.  My  place 
is  here,  for  here  my  duty  lies.'  She  looked  up  to 
the  ceiling  with  a  meek  acceptance  of  the  burden 
laid  upon  her  fair  shoulders.  '  But  I  am  not  come 
to  disturb  you,'  she  continued  briskly;  'I  came  to 
fetch  a  book  to  read  aloud  to  my  lord.'  At  that  a 
sigh  half  broke  from  her  and  was  caught  back  as  it 
were  upon  her  lips.  *  Perhaps,  Mr.  Johnson,'  she 
said  in  a  well-acted  flurry,  '  you  will  help  me  in  the 
selection?' 

*  With  all  the  heart  in  the  world,'  said  he,  laying 
down  his  volume.  The  choice  took  perhaps  longer 
than  need  have  been,  for  over  each  book  there  was 
some  discussion.  This  one  was  too  trivial  to  satisfy 
my  Lord  Oxford's  weighty  mind ;  that  other  was 
too  profound  to  suit  his  health.  '  And  nothing  too 
contentious,  I  implore  you,  lest  it  throw  him  into  a 
heat,'  she  prayed,  '  for  my  lord  has  a  great  gift  of 
logic,  and  will  argue  with  you  by  the  hour  over  the 
merest  trifle.'  This  with  another  half-uttered  sigh, 
and  so  the  martyr  sought  her  lord's  bedside.  It 
appeared,  however,  that  Lord  Oxford  was  sleepy 
that  night,  or  had  no  mind  for  the  music  of  his 
lady's  voice,  for  in  a  very  little  while  she  returned  to 
the  library  and  Mr.  Kelly,  where  Wogan  presently 
found  them  discussing  in  a  great  animation  the 
prospects  of  Mr.  Law's  ventures. 

'  You  are  in  for  a  great  stake? '  she  asked. 

'  For  all  I  have,'  replied  Kelly,  '  and  a  little  more. 
It  is  not  a  great  sum.' 


48  PARSON   KELLY 

'  But  may  become  one,'  said  she,  '  and  will  if  a 
friend's  good  wishes  can  at  all  avail.'  And  so  she 
wished  her  guests  good  night. 

The  next  morning  Lord  Oxford  sent  a  message 
that  he  was  so  far  recovered  as  would  enable  him  to 
receive  his  visitors  that  afternoon.  Meanwhile  Lady- 
Oxford,  after  breakfast  carried  off  the  two  gentlemen 
to  visit  a  new  orchard  she  was  having  planted.  The 
orchard  was  open  to  the  south-west,  and  Kelly  took 
objection  to  its  site,  quoting  Virgil  in  favour  of  a 
westerly  outlook. 

'Ah,  but  the  west  wind,'  she  said,  'comes  to  us 
across  the  Welsh  mountains,  which  even  in  the  late 
spring  are  at  times  covered  deep  in  snow.  However, 
I  should  be  pleased  to  hear  the  advice  of  Virgil,'  and 
the  Parson  goes  off  to  the  library  and  fetches  out  a 
copy. 

It  was  a  warm  day  in  April,  with  the  sky  blue 
overhead  and  the  buds  putting  out  on  the  trees,  and 
for  the  most  part  of  that  morning  Mr.  Kelly  trans- 
lated the  Georgics  to  her  ladyship,  on  a  seat  under  a 
great  yew-tree,  in  a  little  square  of  grass  fenced  off 
with  a  hedge.  She  listened  with  an  extraordinary 
complaisance,  and  now  and  then  a  compliment  upon 
the  Parson's  fluency;  so  that  Mr.  Wogan  lost  all  his 
apprehensions  as  to  her  meddling  in  the  King's 
affairs.  For,  to  his  thinking,  than  listening  to  Virgil, 
there  was  no  greater  proof  of  friendship. 

Nor  was  it  only  upon  this  occasion  that  she  gave 
the  proof.  Lord  Oxford  was  a  difificult  man  from  his 
very  timidity,  and  the  Parson's  visit  was  consequently 
protracted.  His  lordship  needed  endless  assurances 
as  to   the  prospects  of  a   rising  on   behalf  of  King 


PARSON    KELLY  49 

James,  before  he  would  hazard  a  joint  of  his  little 
finger  to  support  it.  Who  would  take  the  place  of 
the  Royal  Swede?  Could  the  French  Regent  be 
persuaded  to  lend  any  troops  or  arms  or  money,  or 
even  to  wink?  Had  the  Czar  been  approached? 
Indeed  he  had,  by  Wogan's  brother  Charles.  And 
what  office  would  my  Lord  Oxford  hold  when  James 
in.  was  crowned?  Each  day  saw  these  questions 
reiterated  and  no  conclusion  come  to.  Lady  Oxford 
was  never  present  at  these  discussions ;  the  face  of 
her  conduct  was  a  sedulous  discretion.  It  is  true 
that  after  a  little  she  dropped  the  pretence  of  laces, 
and,  when  the  servants  were  not  present,  styled  the 
Parson  'Mr.  Kelly.'  But  that  was  all.  'These  are 
not  women's  matters,'  she  would  say  with  a  pretty 
humility,  and  then  rise  like  a  queen  and  sail  out  of 
the  room.  Mr.  Wogan  might  have  noticed  upon 
such  occasions  that  the  Parson  hestitated  for  a  little 
after  she  had  gone,  and  spoke  at  random,  as  though 
she  had  carried  off  some  part  of  his  mind  from  affairs 
with  the  waft  of  her  hoop.  But  he  waited  on  the 
lady's  dispositions  and  set  down  what  he  saw  of  his 
friend's  conduct  at  the  time  as  merely  the  conse- 
quence of  an  endeavour  to  enlist  her  secrecy  and 
good-will. 

These  councils  with  Lord  Oxford  took  place,  as  a 
rule,  in  the  afternoon,  his  lordship  being  a  late  riser, 
and  even  when  risen  capable  only  of  sitting  in  a 
chair,  with  a  leg  swathed  in  a  mountain  of  flannel. 
So  that,  altogether,  Mr.  Kelly  had  a  deal  of  time 
upon  his  hands,  and  doubtless  would  have  found  it 
hang  as  heavy  as  Nick  Wogan  did,  but  for  the  sud- 
den interest  he  took  in  Lady  Oxford's  new  orchard. 

4 


50  PARSON    KELLY 

He  would  spend  hours  over  the  *  Observations  on 
Modern  Gardening,'  and  then, 

'  Nick,'  he  would  cry,  '  there  's  no  life  but  a  country 
life.  One  wakes  in  the  morning,  and  the  eye  travels 
with  delight  over  the  green  expanse  of  fields.  One 
makes  friends  with  the  inanimate  things  of  nature. 
Nick,  here  one  might  re-create  the  Golden  Age.' 

'  To  my  mind,'  says  Nick,  '  but  for  the  dogs  and 
horses  it  would  be  purely  insupportable.  With  all 
the  goodwill  in  the  world  I  cannot  make  friends  with 
a  gatepost,  and  I  'm  not  denying  I  shall  be  mightily 
glad  when  the  wambling  old  sufferer  upstairs  brings 
his  mind  at  last  to  an  anchor.' 

But  the  Parson  was  already  lost  in  speculation,  and 
would  presently  wake  to  ask  Wogan's  opinion  as  to 
whether  a  Huff-cap  pear  was  preferable  to  a  Bar-land. 
To  which  he  got  no  answer,  and  so,  snatching  up  his 
Virgil,  would  go  in  search  of  Lady  Oxford.  He 
acquired,  indeed,  a  most  intimate  knowledge  of  apples 
and  pears,  and  would  discourse  with  her  ladyship 
upon  the  methods  of  planting  and  grafting  as  though 
he  had  been  Adam,  and  she  Flora,  or,  rather,  our 
mother  Eve,  before  the  apple  was  shared  between 
them.  For  apples  the  store,  the  haylee-crab,  the 
brandy-apple,  the  red-streak,  the  moyle,  the  fox- 
whelp,  the  dymock-red;  for  pears  the  squash , pear, 
the  Oldfield,  the  sack-pear,  never  a  meal  passed  but 
one  of  these  names  cropped  up  at  the  table  and  was 
bandied  about  between  Kelly  and  her  ladyship  like  a 
tennis-ball.  Now  all  this,  though  dull,  was  none  the 
less  reassuring  to  Wogan,  who  saw  very  clearly  that 
Lady  Oxford  was  altogether  devoted  to  country  pur- 
suits,   and    wisely    inferred    that   while    there    might 


PARSON   KELLY  51 

result  confusion  in  the  quality  of  the  pears,  there 
would  be  the  less  disorder  in  the  affairs  of  the 
Chevalier. 

Moreover,  her  ladyship's  inclination  towards  Mr. 
Kelly  plainly  increased.  He  translated  the  whole  of 
the  second  book  of  the  Georgics  to  her,  five  hundred 
and  forty-two  mortal  lines  of  immortal  poetry,  and 
she  never  winced.  Nor  did  she  cry  halt  at  the  end 
of  them,  but,  thereafter,  listened  to  the  Eclogues  ; 
and,  all  at  once,  their  conversation  was  sprinkled  with 
Meliboeus  and  Moeris,  and  Lycidas  and  Mopsus,  and 
Heaven  knows  what  other  names.  Mr.  Wogan  re- 
members very  well  coming  upon  them  one  wet  after- 
noon in  the  hall  when  it  was  growing  dark.  The  lamps 
had  not  been  lit,  and  Kelly  had  just  finished  reading 
one  of  the  pastorals  by  the  firelight.  Lady  Oxford 
sat  with  her  hands  clasped  upon  her  knees,  and,  as 
he  closed  the  book, 

'  Oh  for  those  days,'  she  cried,  '  when  a  youth  and 
a  maid  could  roam  barefoot  over  the  grass  in  simple 
woollen  garments !  But  now  we  must  go  furbelowed 
and  bedecked  till  there  's  no  more  comfort  than  simpli- 
city,' and  she  smoothed  her  hand  over  her  petticoat 
with  a  great  contempt  for  its  finery.  Lady  Mary  Wort- 
ley,  to  whom  Wogan  related  this  saying  afterwards, 
explained  that  doubtless  her  ladyship  had  laced  her 
stays  too  tight  that  morning;  but  the  two  men  put 
no  such  construction  on  her  words,  nor,  indeed,  did 
they  notice  a  certain  contradiction  between  them 
and  Lady  Oxford's  anxiety  for  London  gossip  —  the 
Parson,  because  he  had  ceased  to  do  anything  but 
admire  ;  Wogan,  because  a  little  design  had  sud- 
denly occurred  to  him. 


52  PARSON   KELLY 

It  was  Lady  Oxford's  patience  under  the  verses 
which  put  it  into  Wogan's  head.  For  since  she  en- 
dured to  listen  to  poetry  about  trees  and  shepherds, 
poetry  about  herself  must  be  a  sheer  dehght  to  her. 
So,  at  all  events,  he  reasoned,  not  knowing  that  Lady 
Oxford  had  already  enjoyed  occasion  to  listen  to 
poetry  about  herself  from  Lady  Mary's  pen,  which 
was  anything  but  a  delight.  Accordingly  he  hinted 
to  his  friend  that  a  little  ode  might  set  a  firm  seal 
upon  her  friendliness. 

'  Make  her  a  Dryad  in  one  of  the  trees  of  her  own 
orchard,  d'  ye  see?  '  he  suggested  ;  '  something  pretty 
and  artful,  with  sufficient  allusions  to  her  beauty. 
Who  knows  but  what  she  may  be  so  flattered  as  to 
carry  the  verses  against  her  heart;  and  so,  when 
some  fine  day  she  brings  her  husband's  secrets  to  Mr. 
Walpole,  she  may  hear  the  paper  crackling  against 
her  bodice,  and  turn  back  on  the  very  doorstep.' 

*  She  will  carry  no  secrets,'  replied  Kelly  with  a 
huff.  '  She  is  too  conscious  of  her  duties.  Besides, 
she  knows  none.  Have  you  not  seen  her  leave  the 
room  the  moment  politics  are  so  much  as  hinted 
of?' 

'  True,'  said  Wogan.  *  But  what 's  her  husband  for 
except  to  provide  her  with  secrets  when  they  are 
alone  to  which  she  cannot  listen  without  impertinence 
in  company? ' 

Kelly  moved  impatiently  away.  He  stood  with  a 
foot  upon  the  fender,  turning  over  the  pages  of  his 
Virgil. 

'  You  allow  her  no  merit  whatsoever,'  he  said 
slowly  with  a  great  gentleness. 

'  Indeed,  but  I  do,'  replied  Wogan.     *  I  allow  that 


PARSON    KELLY  53 

she  will  be  charmed  by  your  poetry,  and  that 's  a 
rare  merit.  She  will  find  it  as  soothing  as  a  soldier 
does  a  pipe  of  tobacco  after  a  hard  day's  fighting.' 

'  I  would  not  practise  on  her  for  the  world,'  says 
Kelly  with  just  the  same  gentleness,  and  goes  softly 
out  by  the  door. 

VVogan,  however,  was  troubled  by  no  such  delicate 
scruples.  An  ode  must  be  written,  even  if  he  had 
to  write  it  himself.  He  slapped  his  forehead  as  the 
notion  occurred  to  him.  The  ode  might  be  dropped 
as  though  by  accident  at  some  spot  where  her  lady- 
ship's eyes  could  not  fail  to  light  on  it.  Wogan 
heaved  a  deep  breath,  took  a  turn  across  the  room, 
and  resolved  on  the  heroical  feat.  He  would  turn 
poet  to  help  his  friend.  For  two  nights  he  fortified 
himself  with  the  perusal  of  Sir  John  Suckling's  poems, 
and  the  next  morning  took  pencil  and  paper  into  the 
garden.  He  walked  along  the  terrace,  and  seated 
himself  on  the  bench  beneath  the  yew-tree.  Wogan 
sucked  strenuously  at  his  pencil. 

'  Strephon  to  his  Smilinda,  running  barefoot  over 
the  grass  in  a  gale  of  wind,'  he  wrote  at  the  top,  and 
was  very  well  pleased  with  the  title.  By  noonday  he 
had  produced  a  verse,  and  was  very  well  pleased  with 
that,  except,  perhaps,  that  the  last  line  halted.  The 
verse  ran  as  follows  :  — 

Nay,  sweet  Smilinda,  do  not  chide 
The  wind  that  wantons  with  thy  hair; 
The  grass  will  all  his  prickles  hide 
Nor  harm  thy  snowy  feet  and  bare. 
And,  listen,  the  enamoured  air 
Makes  lutestrings  of  thy  locks  so  fair. 
At  night  the  stars  are  mirrors  which  reflect 
Thine  eyes  :  at  least  that  is  what  I  expect. 


54  PARSON    KELLY 

Mr.  Wogan  spent  an  hour  and  three  pipes  of 
tobacco  over  his  unwonted  exercise,  which  brought 
him  into  a  great  heat. 

Having  finished  the  verse  he  blew  out  his  cheeks 
and  took  a  rest  from  his  labours.  It  was  a  fine  spring 
morning,  and  the  sun  bright  as  a  midsummer  day. 
To  his  right  the  creepers  were  beginning  to  stretch 
their  green  tendrils  over  the  red  bricks  of  the  garden 
wall.  To  his  left  half-a-dozen  steps  led  up  to  a  raised 
avenue  of  trees.  Wogan  looked  down  the  avenue, 
noted  the  border  of  spring  flowers,  and  a  flash  of  a 
big  window  at  the  extreme  end ;  and  in  all  the 
branches  the  birds  sang.  The  world  seemed  all 
together  very  good,  and  his  poem  quite  apiece  with 
the  world.  Wogan  stretched  his  arms  and  kicked 
out  his  feet.  His  feet  struck  against  something  hard 
in  a  tuft  of  grass.  He  stooped  down  and  picked  it 
up.  It  was  Kelly's  Virgil.  The  book  was  open,  and 
the  pages  all  blotted  and  smeared  with  the  dew.  It 
had  evidently  lain  open  on  the  grass  by  the  bench 
all  night.  Wogan  wiped  the  covers  dry,  and,  using 
it  as  a  desk,  settled  himself  to  the  composition  of  his 
second  verse.  He  had  not,  however,  thought  of  an 
opening  for  it  before  a  voice  hailed  him  from  behind. 

He  turned  round  and  saw  Kelly  coming  towards 
him  from  the  direction  of  the  orchard,  and  at  that 
moment  the  opening  of  his  verse  occurred  to  him ; 
Strephon  offered  to  Smilinda  his  heart's  allegiance. 
Wogan  set  his  pencil  to  the  paper,  fearful  lest  he 
should  forget  the  line. 

*  Nick,'  cries  Kelly,  waving  a  bundle  of  letters,  and 
starts  to  run.  Wogan  slipped  his  paper  between  the 
leaves  of  the  book ;  just  as  he  did  so,  Strephon,  in 


PARSON    KELLY  55 

return  for  his  heart's  '  allegiance,'  asked  for  Smilinda's 
soft  '  obedience.' 

'  Nick,'  cries  Kelly  again,  coming  up  to  the  bench, 
'  what  d'  you  think  ?  ' 

'  I  think,'  says  Wogan,  *  that  interruption  is  the 
true  source  of  inspiration.' 

'What  do  you  mean?'  asked  Kelly,  looking  at 
Wogan's  pencil. 

'  I  mean,'  says  Wogan,  looking  at  the  cover  of  the 
book,  '  that  if  I  lived  by  my  poetry,  I  would  hire  a 
man  to  rap  at  my  door  all  day  long.' 

Kelly,  however,  had  no  ears  for  philosophy. 

'Nick,'  says  he,  'will  you  listen  to  me,  if  you 
please?  I  have  a  letter  from  Miss  Oglethorpe.  It 
explains  — ' 

'Yes,'  interposed  Wogan  thoughtfully.  'It  ex- 
plains why  the  best  poets  are  ever  those  who  are 
most  dunned  by  their  creditors.' 

Kelly  snatched  the  Virgil  out  of  Wogan's  hand, 
and  threw  it  on  to  the  grass.  The  book  opened  as  it 
fell.  It  opened  at  the  soiled  pages,  and  it  was  behind 
those  pages  that  Wogan  had  slipped  his  poem. 

'  You  are  as  contrarious  as  a  woman.  Here  am  I, 
swollen  with  the  grandest  news,  and  you  must  babble 
about  poets  and  creditors.  Nick,  there  '11  be  few 
creditors  to  dun  you  and  me  for  a  bit.  Just  hsten, 
will  you?' 

He  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  back  of  the  bench, 
and  read  from  his  letter.  It  was  to  the  effect  that, 
during  April,  an  edict  had  been  published  in  France, 
transferring  to  Mr.  Law's  company  of  the  West  the 
exclusive  rights  of  trading  to  the  East  Indies  and  the 
South  Seas. 


56  PARSON    KELLY 

'  Think  of  it,  Nick  !  '  he  cried.  '  The  actions  have 
risen  from  550  livres  to  1,000,  and  we  are  as  yet  at 
the  budding  of  May.  Why,  man,  as  it  is  we  are  well 
to  do.  Just  imagine  that,  if  you  can,  you  threadbare 
devil !     We  shall  be  rich  before  August.* 

'  We  shall  dine  ofif  silver  plates  in  September !  ' 
cries  Nick,  leaping  up  in  the  contagion  of  his  friend's 
good  spirits. 

'  And  drink  out  of  diamond  cups  in  November,' 
adds  Kelly,  dropping  at  once  into  the  Irish  accent. 

'  Bedad  ! '  shouts  Wogan,  '  I  '11  write  my  poetry  on 
beaten  gold,'  and  he  sprang  on  to  the  seat. 

'You  shall,'  replies  Kelly;  'and  your  ink  shall  be 
distilled  out  of  black  pearls.' 

'  Sure,  George,  one  does  not  write  on  gold  with 
ink,  but  with  a  graving  tool.' 

'  This  nonsense,  and  poetry,  are  what  the  lucky 
heart  sings,'  said  Kelly. 

'  To  a  tune  of  clinking  coins,'  said  Wogan.  He 
stooped  down  to  his  friend.  '  Have  it  all  in  solid  gold, 
and  tied  up  in  sacks,'  said  he  earnestly.  '  None  of 
their  bills  of  exchange,  but  crowns,  and  pieces  of 
eight,  and  doubloons,  and  guinea-pieces;  and  all  tied 
up  in  sacks.' 

'What  will  we  do  with  it?  '  asked  Kelly. 

'Why,  sit  on  the  sacks,'  replied  Nick,  and  then 
grew  silent.  He  looked  at  Kelly.  Kelly  looked 
away  to  the  garden-wall. 

'  Ah ! '  said  the  Parson,  with  a  great  start  of  sur- 
prise. ■  There  's  a  lizard  coming  out  of  the  bricks  to 
warm  himself,'  and  he  made  a  step  away  from  the 
bench.  Wogan's  hand  came  quickly  down  upon  his 
shoulder. 


PARSON    KELLY  57 

*  George,'  said  he,  '  I  think  we  are  forgetting  some- 
thing.    Not  a  farthing  of  it  is  mine  at  all.' 

'  Now,  that 's  a  damned  scurvy  ungenerous  remark,' 
replied  George.  '  Have  n't  I  borrowed  half  of  your 
last  sixpence  before  now?' 

Wogan  got  down  from  the  seat. 

*  Poverty  may  take  a  favour  from  poverty,  George, 
and  't  is  all  very  well.' 

Kelly  sat  himself  down  on  the  bench,  crossed  his 
knees,  and  swung  a  leg  to  and  fro. 

*  I  don't  want  the  money,'  said  he,  with  a  snort. 

'  My  philosophy  calls  it  altogether  an  encumbrance,' 
said  Wogan,  sitting  down  by  his  side. 

Kelly  turned  his  back  on  Wogan,  and  stared  at  the 
garden-wall.     Then  he  turned  back. 

*  I  know,'  said  he  of  a  sudden,  and  smacks  his  hand 
down  on  Wogan's  thigh.  '  We  '11  give  it  to  the  King, 
He  can  do  no  more  than  spend  it.' 

'  He  will  certainly  do  no  less.'  But  they  did  not 
give  it  to  the  King. 

Wogan  was  sitting  turned  rather  towards  the  house, 
and  as  he  looked  down  the  avenue,  he  saw  the  great 
windows  at  the  end  open,  and  Lady  Oxford  come  out. 

*  Here  's  her  ladyship  come  for  her  Latin  lesson,' 
said  Wogan,  and  he  rose  from  his  seat. 

*  I  '11  tell  her  of  our  good  fortune,'  said  Kelly,  and 
he  walked  quickly  to  the  steps  at  the  end  of  the 
avenue.  Lady  Oxford  stopped  on  the  first  step,  with 
a  hand  resting  on  the  stone  balustrade.  George 
Kelly  stood  on  the  grass  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  and 
told  her  of  his  news. 

'  The  shares,'  he  ended,  '  have  risen  to  double 
value  already.' 


58  PARSON    KELLY 

It  seemed  to  Wogan  that  her  eyes  flashed  suddenly 
with  a  queer,  unpleasant  light,  and  the  hand  which 
was  resting  idly  on  the  balustrade  crooked  like  the 
claws  of  a  bird.  He  had  seen  such  eyes,  and  such  a 
hand,  at  the  pharo  tables  in  Paris. 

'  It  is  the  best  news  I  have  heard  for  many  a  day,' 
she  said  the  next  instant,  with  a  gracious  smile,  and 
coming  down  the  steps,  walked  by  Mr.  Kelly's  side 
towards  the  bench. 

'And  what  will  you  do  with  it?'  she  asked.  It 
was  her  first  question,  for  she  was  a  practical  woman. 

'  In  the  first  flush,'  replied  Kelly,  hesitating  as  to 
how  he  should  put  the  answer,  '  we  had  a  thought  of 
disposing  of  it  where  it  is  sorely  needed.' 

She  looked  quickly  at  Kelly;  as  quickly  looked 
away.  She  took  a  step  to  the  seat  with  her  eyes  on 
the  ground. 

'Oh,'  she  observed  slowly;  'you  would  give  it 
away.'  There  was,  perhaps,  a  trifle  of  a  pucker  upon 
her  forehead,  perhaps  a  shade  of  disappointment  in 
her  eyes.  But  it  was  all  gone  in  a  moment.  She 
clasped  her  hands  fervently  together,  raised  her  face 
to  the  heavens,  her  cheeks  afire,  her  eyes  most  tender. 
'  Indeed,'  she  exclaimed,  '  the  noblest,  properest  dis- 
position of  it !  Heaven  dispense  me  more  such 
friends  who,  in  a  world  so  niggardly,  retain  so  ancient 
a  spirit  of  generosity,'  and  she  stood  for  a  little,  with 
her  lips  moving,  as  if  in  prayer.  It  was  plain  to 
Mr.  Wogan  that  her  ladyship  had  guessed  the  des- 
tination of  the  money.  No  such  thought,  however, 
troubled  George  Kelly,  who  was  wholly  engaged  in 
savouring  the  flattery,  and,  from  his  appearance, 
found  it  very  much  to  his  taste. 


PARSON   KELLY  59 

*  I  would  not,  however,  if  a  woman  might  presume 
to  advise,'  she  continued,  '  be  in  any  great  hurry  to 
sell  the  shares.  Though  they  have  risen  high,  they 
will  doubtless  rise  higher.  And  your  gift,  if  you  will 
but  wait,  in  a  little  will  grow  worthier  of  the  spirit 
which  prompts  it.' 

'  Madam,'  returned  Kelly,  *  it  is  very  prudent  advice. 
I  will  be  careful  to  follow  it.' 

Was  it  relief  which  showed  for  an  instant  in  Lady 
Oxford's  face?  Kelly  did  not  notice;  Wogan  could 
not  tell;  and  a  second  afterwards  an  event  occurred 
which  wholly  diverted  his  thoughts. 

All  three  had  been  standing  with  their  faces  towards 
the  garden-seat,  the  yew-tree  and  the  orchard  beyond, 
Lady  Oxford  between,  and  a  little  in  advance  of  Kelly 
and  Wogan,  so  that  each  saw  her  face  obliquely  over 
her  shoulders.  Now,  however,  she  turned  and  sat 
down,  giving  thus  her  whole  face  to  the  two  men ; 
and  both  saw  it  suddenly  blanch,  suddenly  flush  as 
though  all  the  blood  had  leaped  from  her  heart  into 
her  cheeks,  and  then  fade  again  to  pallor.  Terror 
widened  and  fixed  her  eyes,  her  lips  parted,  she 
quivered  as  though  she  had  been  struck  a  buffet 
across  the  face. 

'Your  ladyship  — '  began  Kelly,  and,  noticing  the 
direction  of  her  gaze,  he  broke  off  his  sentence,  and 
turned  him  about.  As  he  moved.  Lady  Oxford,  even 
in  the  midst  of  her  terror,  stole  a  quick,  conscious 
glance  at  his  face. 

'  Sure,  't  is  a  predecessor  to  George,'  thought 
Wogan;   and  he  too  turned  about. 

Some  twenty  paces  away  a  man  was  waiting  in  an 
easy  attitude.     He  was  of  the  middle  height,  and, 


6o  PARSON    KELLY 

judged  by  his  travelling  dress  and  bearing,  a  gentle- 
man. His  face  was  thin,  hard,  and  sallow  of  com- 
plexion, the  features  rather  peaked,  the  eyes  dark, 
and  deepset  beneath  the  brows.  Without  any  pre- 
tension to  good  looks,  the  stranger  had  a  certain 
sinister  distinction  —  stranger,  for  that  he  was  to  the 
two  men  at  this  time,  whatever  he  may  have  been  to 
Lady  Oxford.  Yet  George  thought  he  had  seen  the 
man's  eyes  before,  at  Avignon,  when  the  King  was 
there ;  and  Wogan  later  remembered  his  voice,  per- 
haps at  Genoa,  which  he  had  used  much  at  one  time. 
He  stood  just  within  the  opening  in  the  hedge,  and 
must  needs  have  come  through  the  trees  beyond, 
while  Lady  Oxford  and  her  guests  were  discussing 
the  Parson's  good  fortune. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  the  faces  turned  towards  him, 
he  took  off  his  hat,  made  a  step  forwards,  and  flour- 
ished a  bow. 

'Your  ladyship's  most  humble  and  obedient  servant.' 

He  laid  a  stress  upon  the  word  '  obedient,'  and 
uttered  it  with  a  meaning  smile.  Lady  Oxford 
returned  his  bow,  but  instinctively  shifted  her  posi- 
tion on  the  bench  towards  Kelly,  and  timidly  put  out 
a  hand  as  though  she  would  draw  him  nearer. 

The  stranger  took  another  step  forwards.  There 
was  no  change  in  his  expression,  but  the  step  was 
perhaps  more  swiftly  taken. 

'  Mr.  George  Kelly,'  he  said  quietly,  and  bowed 
again.  'The  Reverend  Mr.  George  Kelly,  I  think,' 
and  he  bowed  a  third  time,  but  lower,  and  with 
extreme  gravity. 

Wogan  started  as  the  stranger  pronounced  the 
name.     Instantly  the  stranger  turned  to  him. 


PARSON    KELLY  6i 

*  Ah,'  said  he,  *  Captain  Nicholas  Wogan,  I  think,' 
and  he  took  a  third  step.  His  foot  struck  in  a  tuft 
of  grass,  and  he  stumbled  forward ;  he  fell  plump 
upon  his  knees.  For  a  gentleman  of  so  much  dig- 
nity the  attitude  was  sufficiently  ridiculous.  Wogan 
grinned  in  no  small  satisfaction. 

*  Sure,  my  unknown  friend,'  said  he,  '  I  think  some- 
thing has  tripped  you  up.' 

'  Yes,'  said  the  stranger,  and,  as  he  stood  up,  he 
picked  up  a  book  from  the  grass. 

*  It  is,'  said  he,  '  a  copy  of  Virgil.' 


CHAPTER  V 

A   LITERARY   DISCUSSION    IN    WHICH   A   CRITIC,   NOT 
FOR  THE  FIRST   TIME,  TURNS  THE    TABLES 
UPON   AN   AUTHOR 

KELLY  frowned  at  VVogan,  enjoining  silence  by 
a  shake  of  the  head.  Her  ladyship  was  still 
too  discomposed  to  speak;  she  drew  her  breath  in 
quick  gasps ;  her  colour  still  came  fitfully  and  went. 
The  only  person  entirely  at  ease  in  that  company  was 
the  disconcerting  stranger,  and  even  behind  his  smil- 
ing mask  of  a  face  one  was  somehow  aware  of  sleep- 
ing fires;  and  underneath  the  suave  tones  of  his 
voice  one  somehow  felt  that  there  ran  an  implacable 
passion. 

'  Upon  my  word,'  said  he,  *  I  find  myself  for  a 
wonder  in  the  most  desirable  company.  A  revered 
clergyman,  a  fighting  captain,  a  lady  worthy  of  her 
quality,  and  a  poet.'  He  tapped  the  Virgil  as  he 
spoke,  and  it  fell  open  between  his  hands.  His 
speech  had  been  uttered  with  a  provocative  polite- 
ness, and  since  no  one  responded  to  the  provocation, 
he  continued  in  the  same  strain.  '  The  story  of  Dido  ' 
—  the  book  was  open  at  the  soiled  pages  —  'and  all 
spluttered  with  tears.' 

'  It  has  lain  open  in  the  dew  since  yesterday/ 
interrupted  VVogan. 


PARSON   KELLY  6$ 

*  Tears  no  less  because  the  night  has  shed  them,' 
he  replied ;  '  and  indeed  it  is  a  sad  story,  though  not 
all  true  as  the  poet  relates  it.  For  Dido  had  a  gout- 
ridden  husband  hidden  discreetly  away  in  a  dark 
corner  of  the  Palace,  and  ^neas  was  no  more  than 
an  army  chaplain,  though  he  gave  himself  out  for  a 
general.' 

Kelly  flushed  at  the  words,  and  took  half  a  step 
towards  the  speaker  of  them. 

'  It  is  very  true,  Mr.  Kelly.  A  chaplain,  my  soul 
upon  it,  a  chaplain.  Did  n't  he  invoke  his  religion 
when  he  was  tired  of  the  lady,  and  so  sail  away  with 
a  clear  conscience?  A  very  parsonical  fellow,  Mr. 
Kelly.  O  infelix  Dido,'  he  burst  out,  '  that  met  with 
an  army  chaplain,  and  so  became  food  for  worms 
before  her  time  ! ' 

He  shut  up  the  book  with  a  bang,  and,  as  ill-luck 
would  have  it,  Mr.  Wogan's  poem  peeped  out  from 
the  covers  as  if  in  answer  to  his  knock. 

*  Oho,'  says  he,  '  another  poet,'  and  he  read  out  the 
dedication. 

'  Strephon  to  his  Smilinda  running  barefoot  in  a 
gale  of  wind.' 

Kelly  laughed  aloud,  and  a  faint  smile  flickered  for 
the  space  of  a  second  about  Lady  Oxford's  lips. 
Wogan  felt  his  cheeks  grow  red,  but  constrained 
himself  to  a  like  silence  with  his  companions.  His 
opportunity  would  come  later;  meanwhile  some 
knowledge  was  needed  of  who  the  stranger  was. 

'  A  pretty  conceit,'  resumed  the  latter,  *  though  con- 
sumption in  its  effects.    Will  the  author  pardon  me?' 

He  took  the  sheet  of  paper  in  his  hand,  dropped 
the  Virgil  carelessly  on  the  grass,  and  read  out  the 


64  PARSON   KELLY 

verses  with  an  absolute  gravity  which  mocked  at 
them  more  completely  than  any  ridicule  would  have 
done.  '  It  breaks  off,'  he  added,  *  most  appropriately 
just  when  the  gentleman  claims  the  lady's  obedience. 
There  is  generally  a  break  at  that  point.  "  At  least, 
that  is  what  I  expect," '  he  quoted.  Then  he  looked 
at  each  of  his  two  adversaries.  For  adversaries  his 
language  and  their  faces  alike  proved  them  to  be. 
'Now  which  is  Strephon?'  he  asked, with  an  insinuat- 
ing smile,  as  he  calmly  put  the  verses  in  his  pocket. 
'  Is  it  the  revered  clergyman  or  the  fighting  captain?' 
Kelly's  face  flushed  darkly. 

*  The  revered  clergyman,'  he  broke  in,  and  his 
voice  shook  a  little,  '  would  be  happy  to  be  reminded 
of  the  occasion  which  brought  him  the  honour  of 
your  acquaintance.' 

'  A  sermon,'  replied  the  stranger.  '  I  was  much 
moved  by  a  sermon  which  you  preached  in  Dublin 
upon  the  text  of  "  Render  unto  Caesar  the  things  that 
are  Caesar's."' 

Mr.  Kelly  could  not  deny  that  he  had  preached 
that  sermon;  and  for  all  he  knew  the  stranger 
might  well  have  been  among  his  audience.  He  con- 
tented himself  accordingly  with  a  bow.  So  Wogan 
stepped  in. 

*  And  the  fighting  captain,'  he  said,  with  a  courtesy 
of  manner  no  whit  inferior  to  his  questioner's,  '  would 
be  glad  to  know  when  he  ever  clapped  eyes  upon 
your  honour's  face,  if  you  please.' 

*  Never,'  answered  the  other  with  a  bow.  *  Captain 
Nicholas  Wogan  never  in  his  life  saw  the  faces  of  those 
who  fought  behind  him.  He  had  eyes  only  for  the 
enemy.' 


PARSON   KELLY  65 

Now,  Mr.  Wogan  had  fought  upon  more  than  one 
field  of  which  he  thought  it  imprudent  to  speak.  So 
he  copied  the  Parson's  example  and  bowed. 

*  Does  her  ladyship  also  wish  to  be  reminded  of 
the  particulars  of  our  acquaintance  ? '  said  the 
stranger,  turning  now  to  Lady  Oxford.  There  was 
just  a  tremor,  a  hint  of  passion  discernible  in  his 
voice  as  he  put  the  question.  Both  Wogan  and 
Kelly  had  been  waiting  for  it,  had  restrained  them- 
selves to  silence  in  the  expectation  of  it.  For  only 
let  the  outburst  come,  and  the  man's  design  would  of 
a  surety  tumble  out  on  the  top.  Lady  Oxford,  how- 
ever, suddenly  interposed  and  prevented  it.  It  may 
be  that  she,  too,  had  caught  the  threatening  tremble 
of  his  words,  and  dreaded  the  outburst  as  heartily  as 
the  others  desired  it.  At  all  events,  she  rose  from 
the  bench  as  though  some  necessity  had  spurred  her 
to  self-possession. 

*  No,  Mr.  Scrope,'  she  said  calmly,  '  I  do  not  wish 
to  be  reminded  of  our  acquaintance  either  in  particu- 
lar or  in  general.  It  was  a  slight  thing  at  its  warmest, 
and  I  thank  God  none  of  my  seeking.  Mr.  Kelly, 
will  you  give  me  your  arm  to  the  house?' 

The  stranger  for  a  second  was  plainly  staggered  by 
her  words.  Kelly  cast  a  glance  at  Wogan  which  the 
*  fighting  captain  '  very  well  understood,  offered  his 
arm  to  Lady  Oxford,  and  before  the  stranger  re- 
covered himself,  the  pair  were  up  the  steps  and  pro- 
ceeding down  the  avenue. 

*  A  slight  thing  !  *  muttered  Mr.  Scrope  in  a  sort  of 
stupor.  '  God,  what's  a  strong  thing,  then?'  and  at 
that  the  passion  broke  out  of  him.  '  It's  the  Parson 
now,  is  it?'  he  cried,    '  Indeed,  Mr.  Wogan,  a  parson 

5 


66  PARSON    KELLY 

is  very  much  like  a  cat.  Whether  he  throws  his 
cassock  over  the  wall,  or  no,  it  is  still  the  same  sly, 
soft-footed,  velvety  creature,  with  a  keen  eye  for  a 
soft  lap  to  make  his  bed  in,'  and  with  an  oath  he 
started  at  a  run  after  Kelly.  Wogan,  however,  ran 
too,  and  he  ran  the  faster.  He  got  first  to  the  steps, 
sprang  to  the  top  of  them,  and  turned  about,  just  as 
Mr.  Scrope  reached  the  bottom. 

'  Wait  a  bit,  my  friend  !  '  said  Wogan. 

'  Let  me  go.  if  you  please,'  said  Mr.  Scrope,  mount- 
ing the  lowest  step. 

'  You  and  I  must  have  a  little  talk  first.' 

*  It  will  be  talk  of  a  kind  uncommon  disagreeable 
to  you,'  said  Mr.  Scrope  hotly,  and  he  mounted  the 
second  step. 

Wogan  laughed  gleefully. 

'  Why,  that 's  just  the  way  I  would  have  you  speak,' 
said  he.  Mr.  Scrope  stopped,  looked  over  Wogan 
from  head  to  foot,  and  then  glanced  past  him  up  the 
avenue. 

*  I  have  no  quarrel  with  you,  Mr.  Wogan,'  he  said 
politely,  and  took  the  third  step. 

'  And  have  you  not?  '  asked  Wogan.  '  I  'm  think- 
ing, on  the  contrary,  that  you  took  exception  to  my 
poetry.' 

'  Was  the  poetry  yours?  Indeed,  I  did  not  guess 
that,'  he  replied.  '  But  the  greatest  of  men  may  yet 
be  poor  poets.' 

*  In  this  case  you  're  mightily  mistaken,'  cried  Wo- 
gan, and  he  stamped  his  foot  and  threw  out  his  chest. 
*  I  am  my  poetry.' 

Mr,  Scrope  squinted  up  the  avenue  under  Wogan's 
arm. 


PARSON   KELLY  67 

'  Damn  !  '  said  he. 

Wogan  turned  round  ;  Parson  Kelly  and  her  lady- 
ship were  just  passing  through  the  window  into  the 
house.  Wogan  laughed,  but  a  trifle  too  soon.  For 
as  he  still  stood  turned  away  and  looking  down  the 
avenue,  Mr.  Scrope  took  the  last  three  steps  at  a 
bound,  and  sprang  past  him.  Luckily  as  he  sprang 
he  hit  against  Wogan's  shoulder,  and  so  swung  him 
round  the  quicker.  Wogan  just  caught  the  man's 
elbow,  jerked  him  back,  got  both  his  arms  coiled 
about  his  body,  lifted  him  off  his  feet,  and  flattened 
him  up  against  his  chest.  Mr.  Scrope  struggled 
against  the  pressure  ;  he  was  lithe  and  slippery  like 
a  fish,  and  his  muscles  gave  and  tightened  like  a  steel 
spring.  Wogan  gripped  him  the  closer,  pinioning 
his  arms  to  his  side.  In  a  little  Scrope  began  to 
pant,  and  a  little  after  to  perspire  ;  then  the  veins 
ridged  upon  his  face,  and  his  eyes  opened  and  shut 
convulsively. 

'  Have  you  had  enough,  do  you  think  .■* '  asked 
Wogan  ;  '  or  shall  I  fall  on  you  ?  But  you  may  take 
my  word  for  it,  whatever  you  think  of  my  love-poems, 
that  I  never  yet  fell  on  any  man  but  something  broke 
inside  of  him.' 

Mr.  Scrope  was  not  In  that  condition  which  would 
enable  him  to  articulate,  but  he  seemed  to  gasp  an 
assent,  and  Wogan  put  him  down.  He  staggered 
backwards  towards  the  house  for  a  yard  or  two, 
leaned  against  one  of  the  trees,  and  then,  taking  out 
his  handkerchief,  wiped  his  forehead ;  at  the  same 
time  he  walked  towards  the  house,  but  with  the 
manner  of  a  man  who  is  dizzy,  and  knows  nothing  of 
his  direction. 


68  PARSON   KELLY 

*  Stop  ! '  cried  Wogan. 

Scrope  stooped,  and  turned  back  carelessly,  as 
though  he  had  not  heard  the  command.  Indeed,  he 
seemed  even  to  have  forgotten  why  he  was  out  of 
breath. 

'  Mr.  Wogan,'  he  said,  '  I  do  not  quite  understand. 
It  seems  you  write  love-poems  to  her  ladyship,  and 
yet  encourage  the  Parson  to  court  her.' 

Wogan  was  not  to  be  drawn  into  any  explanation. 

*  Let  us  leave  her  ladyship  entirely  out  of  the 
question.  There  's  the  value  of  my  poetry  to  be 
argued  out.' 

Mr.  Scrope  bowed,  and  they  walked  down  the 
steps  side  by  side,  and  through  the  opening  in  the 
hedge.  A  path  led  through  the  trees,  and  they  fol- 
lowed it  until  they  came  to  an  open  space  of  sward. 
Wogan  measured  it  across  with  his  stride. 

'  A  very  fitting  place  for  the  argument,  I  think,'  he 
said,  and  took  off  his  coat. 

'What?  In  Smilinda's  garden?'  asked  Scrope 
easily.  '  Within  view  of  Smilinda's  windows?  Surely 
the  common  road  would  be  the  more  convenient  place.' 

'Why,  and  that's  true,'  answered  Wogan.  'It 
would  have  been  an  outrage.' 

*  No,'  said  Scrope,  '  merely  a  flaw  in  the  argument. 
This  is  the  nearest  way.  At  least,  I  think  so,'  and 
he  turned  off  at  an  angle,  passed  through  a  shrub- 
bery, and  came  out  opposite  a  little  postern-gate  in 
the  garden-wall. 

*  You  know  the  grounds  well,'  said  Wogan. 

*  It  is  my  first  visit,'  replied  Scrope,  with  a  trace  of 
bitterness,  '  but  I  have  been  told  enough  of  them  to 
know  my  way.' 


PARSON    KELLY  69 

He  stepped  forward  and  opened  the  gate.  Out- 
side in  the  road  stood  a  travelHng  chaise  with  a  pair 
of  horses  harnessed  to  it. 

'  There  is  no  one  within  view,'  said  Wogan.  The 
road  ran  to  right  and  left  empty  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach;   in  front  stretched  the  empty  fields. 

*  No  one,'  said  Mr.  Scrope,  and  he  looked  up  to 
the  sky. 

'  Well,  I  would  as  lief  take  my  last  look  at  the  sun- 
light as  at  anything  else,  and  I  doubt  not  it  is  the 
same  with  you.' 

Wogan,  in  spite  of  himself,  began  to  entertain  a 
certain  liking  for  the  man.  He  had  accepted  each 
stroke  of  ill-fortune  —  his  discomfiture  at  Lady 
Oxford's  hands,  the  grapple  on  the  steps,  and  now 
this  duel — without  disputation.  Moreover  Wogan 
was  wondering  whether  or  no  the  man  had  some  real 
grievance  against  her  ladyship  and  what  motive 
brought  him,  in  what  expectation,  in  his  chaise  to 
Brampton  Bryan.  He  felt  indeed  a  certain  compunc- 
tion for  his  behaviour,  and  he  said  doubtfully, 

'  Mr.  Scrope,  you  and  I  might  have  been  very  good 
friends  in  other  circumstances.' 

'I  doubt  it  very  much,  Mr.  Wogan.'  Scrope 
shook  his  head  and  smiled.  'Your  poetry  would 
always  have  come  between  us.  I  would  really  sooner 
die  than  praise  it' 

He  looked  up  and  down  the  road  as  he  spoke, 
and  then  made  an  almost  imperceptible  nod  at  his 
coachman. 

'That  field  opposite  will  do,  I  think,'  Scrope  said, 
and  advanced  from  the  doorway  to  the  side  of  his 
chaise  as  though  he  was  looking  for  something.     It 


70  PARSON    KELLY 

was  certainly  not  his  sword  ;  Wogan  now  thinks  it 
was  his  pistols.  Wogan  felt  his  liking  increase  and 
was  inclined  to  put  the  encounter  off  for  a  little.  It 
was  for  this  reason  that  he  stepped  forward  and 
passed  an  arm  through  Scrope's  just  as  the  latter 
had  set  a  foot  on  the  step  of  the  chaise,  no  doubt 
to  search  the  better  for  what  he  needed. 

*  Now  what 's  amiss  with  the  poem?  '  asked  Wogan 
in  a  friendly  way. 

'  It  is  altogether  too  inconsequent,'  replied  Scrope 
with  a  sudden  irritation  for  which  Wogan  was  at  a 
loss  to  account. 

'  But  my  dear  man,'  said  he,  '  it  was  not  intended 
for  a  syllogism.' 

Scrope  took  his  foot  off  the  step  and  turned  to 
Wogan  as  though  a  new  thought  had  sprung  into  his 
brain. 

'  Mr.  Wogan,'  he  said,  '  I  shall  have  all  the  pleasure 
imaginable  in  pointing  out  the  faults  to  you  if  you 
care  to  listen  and  have  the  leisure.  Then  if  you  kill 
me  afterwards,  why  I  shall  have  done  you  some  slight 
service  and  perhaps  the  world  a  greater.  If  I  kill 
you,  on  the  other  hand,  why  there  's  so  much  time 
wasted,  it  is  true,  but  I  am  in  no  hurry.' 

There  was  no  escape  from  the  duel ;  that  Wogan 
knew.  Mr.  Scrope  had  insulted  the  Parson,  Lady 
O.xford,  and  himself;  he  was  aware  besides  that  the 
Parson  and  Wogan,  both  of  them  at  the  best  sus- 
pected characters,  were  visiting  the  Earl  of  Oxford; 
and  he  had,  whether  it  was  justified  or  no,  a  hot  re- 
sentment against  the  Parson.  He  might,  since  he 
knew  so  much,  know  also  more,  as,  for  instance,  the 
names  under  which  the  Parson  and  Wogan  were  hid- 


PARSON   KELLY  71 

ing  themselves.  It  would  not  in  any  case  need  a 
very  shrewd  guess  to  hit  upon  their  business,  and  if 
Mr.  Scrope  got  back  safe  to  London,  why  he  might 
make  himself  confoundedly  unpleasant.  Wogan  ran 
through  these  arguments  in  his  mind,  and  was 
brought  to  the  conclusion  that  he  must  most  infal- 
libly kill  Mr.  Scrope ;  but  at  the  same  time  a  little  of 
his  company  meanwhile  could  do  no  harm. 

'  Nor  I,'  replied  Wogan  accordingly.  '  I  shall  be 
delighted  to  confute  your  opinions.' 

Mr.  Scrope  bowed ;  it  seemed  as  though  his  face 
lighted  up  for  a  moment. 

*  There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  stand  in  the 
road,'  he  said,  '  when  we  can  sit  in  the  chaise.' 

'Very  true,'  answered  Wogan. 

Scrope  mounted  into  the  chaise.  Wogan  followed 
upon  his  heels.  They  sat  down  side  by  side,  and 
Scrope  pulled  out  the  verses  from  his  pocket.  He 
read  the  dedication  once  more : 

*  Strephon  to  Smilinda  running  barefoot  over  the 
grass  in  a  gale  of  wind.' 

'  Let  me  point  out,'  said  he,  '  that  you  have  made 
the  lady  run  barefoot  at  the  very  time  when  she 
would  be  most  certain  to  put  on  her  shoes  and  stock- 
ings. And  that  error  vitiates  the  whole  poem.  For 
the  wind  is  severe,  you  will  notice.  So  when  she 
reprimands  the  storm,  she  should  really  reprimand 
herself  for  her  inconceivable  folly.' 

'  But  Smilinda  has  no  shoes  and  stockings  at  all  in 
the  poem,'  replied  Wogan  triumphantly. 

*  That  hardly  betters  the  matter,'  returned  Scrope. 
'  For  in  that  case  her  feet  might  be  bare  but  they 
would  certainly  not  be  snowy/ 


72  PARSON    KELLY 

He  stooped  down  as  he  spoke  and  drew  from 
under  the  seat  a  bottle  of  wine,  which  he  opened. 

'  This,'  he  said,  *  may  help  us  to  consider  the  poem 
in  a  more  charitable  light' 

He  gave  Wogan  the  bottle  to  hold,  and  stooping 
once  more  fetched  out  a  couple  of  glasses.  Then  he 
held  one  in  each  hand. 

'  Now  will  you  fill  them? '  he  said.  Wogan  poured 
out  the  wine  and  while  pouring  it : 

*  Two  glasses?  '  he  remarked.  '  It  seems  you  came 
prepared  for  the  conversation.' 

Scrope  raised  his  eyes  quickly  to  Wogan's  face, 
and  dropped  them  again  to  the  glasses. 

'  One  might  easily  have  been  broken,'  he  explained. 

They  leaned  back  in  the  chaise,  each  with  a  glass 
in  his  hand. 

'  It  is  to  your  taste,  I  hope,'  said  Scrope  courteously. 

Wogan  smacked  his  lips  in  contentment. 

'  Lord  Oxford  has  no  better  in  his  cellars.' 

'  I  may  agree  without  boastfulness.  It  is  indeed 
Florence  of  a  rare  vintage,  which  I  was  at  some  pains 
to  procure.'  He  laughed  with  a  spice  of  savagery 
and  resumed  the  consideration  of  Wogan's  verses. 

'  You  seem  to  me  to  have  missed  the  opportunity 
afforded  by  your  gale  of  wind.  A  true  poet  would 
surely  have  made  great  play  with  the  lady's  petticoats.' 

*  Smilinda  had  none,'  again  replied  Wogan  in 
triumph,  and  he  emptied  his  glass. 

'  No  shoes  and  stockings  and  no  petticoats,'  said 
he  in  a  shocked  voice.  '  It  is  well  you  wrote  a  poem 
about  her  instead  of  painting  her  portrait,'  and  he 
filled  Wogan's  glass  again,  and  added  a  little  to  his 
own,  which  was  no  more  than  half  empty. 


PARSON    KELLY  73 

*  Don't  you  comprehend,  my  friend,'  exclaimed 
Wogan, '  that  Smihnda  's  a  nymph,  an  ancient  Roman 
nymph?  ' 

'  Oh,  she  's  a  nymph  !  ' 

'  Yes,  and  so  wears  no  clothes  but  a  sort  of  linsey- 
wolsey  garment  kirtled  up  to  her  knees.' 

*  Well,  let  that  pass.  But  here  's  a  line  I  view  with 
profound  discontent.  "  The  grass  will  all  its  prickles 
hide."  Thistles  have  prickles,  Mr.  Wogan,  but  the 
grass  has  blades  like  you  and  me;  only,  unlike  you 
and  me,  it  has  no  scabbards  to  sheathe  them  in.' 

'Well,'  said  Wogan,  'but  that's  very  wittily  said,' 
and  he  laughed  and  chuckled. 

'  It  is  not  bad,  upon  my  faith,'  replied  Scrope. 
'  Let  us  drink  to  it  in  full  glasses.' 

He  emptied  the  bottle  into  Wogan's  glass  and 
tossed  it  into  the  road. 

'  Now  here 's  something  more.  The  wind,  you 
observe,  makes  lutestrings  of  Smilinda's  hair.' 

*  There  is  little  fault  to  be  discovered  in  that  image, 
I  fancy,'  said  Wogan,  lifting  his  glass  to  his  lips 
with  a  smile. 

'It  is  a  whimsical  image,'  replied  Scrope.  '  It  is 
as  much  as  to  call  her  hair  catgut' 

Wogan  was  startled  by  the  criticism.  He  sat  up 
and  scratched  his  nose. 

'  Well,  I  had  not  thought  of  that,'  he  said.  He  was 
somewhat  crestfallen,  and  he  looked  to  his  glass  for 
consolation.  The  glass  was  empty;  he  looked  on 
to  the  road  where  the  empty  bottle  rolled  in  the 
dust. 

*  I  have  its  fellow,'  said  Scrope,  interpreting 
Wogan's  glance.     He  produced  a  second  bottle  from 


74  PARSON    KELLY 

the  same  place.  The  second  bottle  brought  them  to 
the  end  of  the  verse.  There  was,  however,  a  little 
discussion  over  the  last  line,  and  a  third  bottle  was 
broached  to  assist. 

'"At  least  that  is  what  I  expect."  It  is  a  very- 
vile  line,  Mr.  Wogan.' 

*  It  is,  perhaps,  not  so  good  as  the  others,'  Wogan 
admitted.  '  But  you  must  blame  the  necessities  of 
rhyming.' 

'  But  the  art  of  the  poet  is  to  conceal  such  neces- 
sities,' answered  Scrope.  'And  observe,  Mr. Wogan, 
you  sacrifice  a  great  deal  here  to  get  an  accurate 
rhyme,  but  in  the  remaining  two  lines  of  the  next 
verse  you  do  not  trouble  your  head  about  a  rhyme 
at  all.' 

'  Oh,  let  me  see  that !  '  said  Wogan,  holding  out  a 
hand  for  the  paper.  He  had  clean  forgotten  by  this 
time  what  those  two  lines  described. 

'  Allegiance,  Mr.  Wogan,'  said  Scrope,  politely 
handing  him  the  verses,  '  is  no  rhyme  to  obedience.' 

'Allegiance  —  obedience  —  obedience  —  allegiance,' 
repeated  Wogan  as  clearly  as  he  could.  *  Nay,  I 
think  it 's  a  very  good  rhyme.' 

'  Oh !  '  exclaimed  Scrope  in  a  sudden  comprehen- 
sion. '  If  you  tell  me  the  verses  are  conceived  in 
the  Irish  dialect,  I  have  not  another  word  to  say.' 

Now  Mr.  Wogan,  as  a  rule,  was  a  little  touchy  on 
the  subject  of  his  accent.  But  at  this  moment  he 
had  the  better  part  of  three  bottles  of  admirable 
Florence  wine  under  his  belt  and  was  so  disposed  to 
see  great  humour  in  any  remark.  He  grew  uproari- 
ous over  Mr.  Scrope's  witticism. 

'  Sure,  but  that 's  the    most  delicate  jest   I    have 


PARSON    KELLY  75 

heard  for  months,'  he  cried.  '  Conceived  in  the 
Irish  dialect !  Ho !  Ho !  I  must  tell  it  at  the 
Cocoa  Tree  —  though  it  hits  at  me,'  and  he  stood 
up  in  the  chaise.  'Obedience  —  allegiance.*  Mr. 
Scrope  steadied  him  by  the  elbow.  '  Faith,  Mr. 
Scrope,  but  you  and  I  must  have  another  crack  one 
of  these  days.'  He  put  a  foot  out  on  the  step  of 
the  chaise.  '  I  love  a  man  that  has  some  warmth  in 
his  merriment  —  and  some  warmth  in  his  bottle  too.' 
He  stepped  out  of  the  chaise  on  to  the  ground. 
'The  best  Florence  I  have  tasted — the  best  joke  I 
have  heard  —  the  Irish  dialect.  Ha,  ha!'  and  he 
waved  a  hand  at  Scrope.  Scrope  called  quickly  to 
the  coachman ;  the  next  instant  the  chaise  started 
off  at  a  gallop. 

Wogan  was  left  standing  in  the  road,  shouting  his 
laughter.  When  the  coach  chaise  was  some  thirty 
yards  away,  however,  his  laughter  stopped  com- 
pletely. He  rubbed  his  hand  once  or  twice  over  his 
bemused  forehead. 

'  Stop !  '  he  yelled  suddenly,  and  began  to  run  after 
the  chaise.  Scrope  stood  up  and  spoke  to  the  driver. 
The  horses  slackened  their  pace  until  Wogan  got 
within  twenty  yards  of  it.  Then  Scrope  spoke  again, 
and  the  coachman  drove  the  horses  just  as  fast  as 
Wogan  was  running. 

'You  have  forgotten  something,  my  friend,'  cries 
Wogan. 

'And  what 's  that?  '  asked  Scrope  pleasantly,  lean- 
ing over  the  back  of  the  chaise. 

'You  have  forgotten  the  duel.' 

'  No,'  shouted  Scrope  with  a  grimace.  '  It  is  you 
that  forgot  that.' 


76  PARSON   KELLY 

'Ah,  you  cheese-curd! — you  white-livered  cow- 
ard !  '  cried  VVogan,  '  and  I  taking  you  for  a  fine  man 
—  equal  to  myself  —  you  chalky  cheese-curd  !  '  He 
quickened  his  pace;  Scrope  called  to  the  coachman ; 
the  coachman  whipped  up  his  horses.  '  Oh  wait  a 
bit  till  I  come  up  with  you.  I  '11  eat  you  in  your 
clothes.' 

Wogan  bounded  along  the  road,  screaming  out 
every  vile  epithet  he  could  lay  his  tongue  to  in  the 
heat  of  the  moment.  His  hat  and  wig  fell  off  on  the 
road ;  he  did  not  stop,  but  ran  on  bareheaded. 

'  But  listen,  the  enamoured  air 
Makes  lutestrings  of  thy  locks  so  fair,' 

quoted  Scrope,  rubbing  his  hands  with  delight. 
Wogan's  fury  redoubled,  he  stripped  off  his  coat  and 
ran  till  the  road  grew  dizzy  and  the  air  flashed  sparks 
at  him.  But  the  chaise  kept  ever  at  the  same  dis- 
tance. With  this  interval  of  twenty  yards  between 
them,  chaise  and  Wogan  dashed  through  the  tiny 
street  of  Brampton  Bryan.  A  horde  of  little  boys 
tumbled  out  of  the  doors  and  ran  at  Wogan's  heels. 
The  more  he  cursed  and  raved,  the  more  the  little 
boys  shouted  and  yelled.  Scrope  in  the  chaise  shook 
with  laughter,  clapped  his  hands  as  if  in  commenda- 
tion of  Wogan's  powers,  and  encouraged  him  to 
greater  efforts.  They  passed  out  of  the  village;  the 
children  gave  up  the  pursuit,  and  sent  a  few  parting 
stones  after  Wogan's  back;  in  front  stretched  the 
open  road.  Wogan  ran  half  a  mile  further,  but  he 
was  too  heavily  handicapped  with  his  three  bottles 
of  wine,  and  Scrope's  horses  were  fresh.  He  shouted 
out  one  last  oath,  and  then  in  a  final  spasm  of  fury 


PARSON    KELLY  '  77 

sat  down  by  the  roadside,  stripped  off  his  shoe,  and 
springing  into  the  middle  of  the  road,  hurled  it  with 
all  his  might  at  the  retreating  chaise.  The  shoe 
struck  the  top  of  the  hood,  balanced  there  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  bounced  over  on  to  the  seat.  Scrope  took 
it  up  and  waved  it  above  his  head. 

*  The  grass  will  all  its  prickles  hide, 
Nor  harm  thy  snowy  feet  and  bare.' 

The  driver  plied  his  whip  ;  the  chaise  whirled  out  of 
sight  in  a  cloud  of  dust;  and  the  disconsolate  Wogan 
hobbled  back  to  Brampton  Bryan  with  what  secrecy 
he  could. 

Mr.  Scrope  was  on  his  way  with  the  road  to 
London  open,  were  he  disposed  to  follow  it.  Mr. 
Wogan  seemed  to  see  his  chaise  flashing  through  the 
turnpikes,  and  his  sallow  cheeks  taking  on  an  eager 
colour  as  the  miles  were  heaped  behind  him. 

He  knew  that  Mr.  Kelly  and  Nicholas  Wogan 
were  at  Lord  Oxford's  house  at  Brampton  Bryan. 
He  knew  enough,  therefore,  to  throw  some  disorder  on 
the  Chevalier's  affairs  were  he  disposed  to  publish  his 
news.  But  not  in  that  way  did  he  take,  at  this  time, 
his  revenge  upon  the  Parson. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MR.   NICHOLAS  WOGAN   REMINDS   THE   PARSON   OF   A 
NIGHT   AT   THE   MAZARIN   PALACE 

WHILE  Wogan  pursued  in  vain  a  flying  foe, 
Lady  Oxford  and  Parson  Kelly  waited  in  the 
house  for  his  return,  her  ladyship  in  a  great  discom- 
posure and  impatience,  and  the  Parson  more  silent 
than  ordinary.  Whatever  he  may  have  thought  of 
Scrope's  unexpected  visit,  his  pride  forbade  him 
questions. 

'  The  most  unfortunate  affair,'  exclaimed  her  lady- 
ship distractedly.  '  Sure  never  was  a  woman  so 
cursed.  But  indeed  I  was  born  under  a  frownine 
star,  Mr.  Kelly,  and  so  my  lord's  friends  cannot  visit 
him,  but  some  untoward  accident  puts  them  into 
peril.' 

*  You  need  be  troubled  by  no  fears  on  our  account,' 
replied  Kelly,  '  for  Nick  will  ensure  the  fellow's 
silence  before  ever  he  lets  him  out  of  his  sight.' 

'True,'  said  she,  with  a  fresh  pang  of  anxiety, 
'  Mr.  Wogan  is  with  him  and  will  doubtless  seek  an 
explanation.* 

Kelly  smiled,  but  without  any  overwhelming 
amusement. 

'Neither,'  said  he,  'need  your  ladyship  fear  that 
he  will  listen  to  any  indiscreet  explanation.     Words 


PARSON   KELLY  79 

have  very  little  to  do  with  the   explanations  which 
Nicholas  favours.' 

Lady  Oxford  remarked  the  distant  stateliness  in 
Kelly's  tone  and  was  in  a  hurry  to  retrieve  the  slip 
she  had  made. 

'  It  is  just  that  I  mean,'  she  cried,  coming  over  to 
Kelly.  'If  Mr.  Wogan  —  kills  this  man,'  and  her 
eyes  flashed  as  though  she  did  in  her  heart  desire 
that  consummation,  'here  at  the  Park  Gates  — ' 

'  Believe  me,'  replied  Kelly  reassuringly,  '  he  will 
omit  no  proper  ceremony  if  he  does.' 

'  No,  nor  will  the  county  justices  either,'  retorted 
Lady  Oxford,  '  and  there  are  Mr.  George  Kelly  and 
Mr.  Nicholas  Wogan  to  explain  their  presence  at 
Brampton  Bryan  Manor,  as  best  they  can,  to  a  bench 
of  bumpkins.' 

'Again  your  ladyship  is  unnecessarily  alarmed. 
For  if  Mr.  Scrope  is  now  no  more,  Mr.  George  Kelly 
and  Mr.  Nicholas  Wogan  are  still  Mr.  James  John- 
son and  his  secretary  Mr.  Hilton.  No  harm  threatens 
Brampton  Bryan  Manor  from  their  visit.' 

This  he  said  no  less  coldly,  and  to  cut  the  conver- 
sation short,  stalked  with  excessive  dignity  to  the 
door.  Lady  Oxford  was  gazing  ruefully  down  the 
avenue  from  the  window,  when  she  heard  the  knob 
of  the  door  move  under  his  hand.  She  turned  quickly 
about. 

*  It  was  not  of  Brampton  Bryan  Manor  I  was  think- 
ing,' she  said  hurriedly,  '  nor  of  our  safety.  Why,  in 
what  poor  esteem  do  you  hold  me !  Am  I  then  so 
contemptible  a  thing?'  There  was  no  anger  in  her 
reproach.  Rather  it  melted  in  a  most  touching  sad- 
ness.    *  Have    I    no    friends   whose   safety   troubles 


8o  PARSON    KELLY 

me? '  she  added.  At  that  out  came  her  handkerchief 
and  fluttered  at  her  eyes.  '  Nay,  but  I  thought  I  had 
—  two  of  the  noblest.'  It  was  a  mere  scrap  of  a 
handkerchief,  and  the  greater  part  of  that  a  lace 
edging.  It  would  not  have  sopped  up  many  tears, 
but  it  served  her  ladyship's  turn.  For  indeed  the 
mere  sight  of  it  convinced  Kelly  of  his  monstrous 
cruelty. 

'  Your  ladyship  ! '  he  cried,  turning  back.  '  Tears  ! 
And  I  have  caused  them.  Faith,  I  should  be  hanged 
for  that.  Yet  they  flow  for  my  friend  and  me,  and  I 
am  blessed  instead.' 

But  she  would  have  none  of  his  apologies.  She 
stepped  back  as  he  approached. 

'  No,'  said  she,  and  wiped  an  imaginary  tear-drop 
from  the  dryest  of  eyes ;  '  you  have  asked  me  for  an 
explanation  of  Mr.  Scrope's  coming  and  you  have  a 
right  to  ask  it.' 

'  Madam,'  expostulated  Kelly,  '  I  was  careful,  on 
the  contrary,  to  ask  for  no  explanation  whatever. 
For  I  have  no  right  to  it.' 

*  Oh,  but  you  have,'  returned  her  ladyship  with 
asperity ;  and  then  up  went  her  handkerchief  again, 

'  All  men,'  she  said,  in  a  voice  most  pathetical, 
*  have  a  right  to  ask  any  explanation  of  any  woman, 
at  anytime.  Women,  poor  sad  creatures,  are  suspect 
from  their  cradles,  and  to  distrust  them  is  the  pre- 
rogative of  manhood,'  Here  she  tore  away  her  hand- 
kerchief and  lifted  her  hands  in  an  ardent  prayer, 
'  Oh  that  some  day  I  might  meet  with  one  single  man 
who  would  believe  us  worthy  of  respect !  '  She 
walked  away  to  the  window  and  said  in  a  low  voice, 
'With  what  friendship  would  I  requite  him,' 


PARSON    KELLY  8t 

Thus  the  unfortunate  Mr.  Kelly  was  not  merely 
plunged  in  remorse,  but  brought  to  see  that  he  had 
missed  the  one  solitary  path  which  would  have  led 
him  into  this  great  lady's  friendship. 

'  Your  ladyship,'  he  implored,  '  mistakes  my  senti- 
ments altogether.' 

'  Mr.  Kelly,'  she  replied,  proudly,  '  we  will  not,  if 
you  please,  pursue  the  matter.  You  have  your  expla- 
nation and  I  trust  you  will  allow  it  to  content  you,' 
and  so  she  sailed  majestically  out  of  the  room,  leaving 
Mr.  Kelly  in  that  perturbation  that  he  quite  failed  to 
notice  he  had  received  no  explanation  whatever.  She 
dropped  her  stateliness,  however,  when  the  door  was 
closed  behind  her,  and,  hurrying  across  the  hall,  lay 
in  wait  behind  a  shrubbery  for  Wogan's  return. 
Wogan,  on  the  other  hand,  had  admirable  reasons  for 
avoiding  all  paths,  and  so  slipped  into  the  back  of 
the  house  unseen.  Consequently  it  was  not  until 
half-an-hour  later,  when  Lady  Oxford  was  fairly  dis- 
tracted, that  she  discovered  him,  decently  clothed, 
and  urging  upon  Kelly  the  necessity  of  an  immediate 
retreat.  He  broke  off  from  his  advice  as  Lady  Ox- 
ford entered. 

'  You  have  done  him  no  hurt?  '  she  asked,  looking 
Wogan  over  from  head  to  foot  in  search  of  a  speck  of 
blood,  and  ready  to  swoon  if  she  saw  one. 

'  Not  the  least  in  the  world,'  replied  Wogan. 

'  Nor  he  you?  ' 

'  There  was  never  any  likelihood  of  that.'  Wogan 
had  to  put  the  best  face  on  the  matter  possible,  and 
since  he  could  not  own  to  the  humiliating  truth,  why, 
the  necessary  lie  might  just  as  well  redound  to  his 
credit.     '  I   swore  him  to  secrecy  upon  his  bended 

6 


82  PARSON    KELLY 

knees.  He  took  the  oath  on  the  hilt  of  this  very 
sword,'  and  Wogan  hitched  forward  his  hanger. 

A  footman  at  this  moment  announced  that  dinner 
was  served. 

'Will  you  give  me  your  hand,  Mr.  Wogan?  '  asked 
Lady  Oxford,  and  detaining  him  until  Kelly  had 
passed  out  of  the  room  : 

'He  gave  you  doubtless  a  reason  for  his  coming?' 
she  asked. 

'  Surely  he  did,'  said  Wogan,  who  was  not  for  ad- 
mitting any  omission  on  his  own  part. 

'And  what  reason?'  asked  her  ladyship. 

Mr.  Wogan  looked  at  the  ground  and  got  a  flash 
of  inspiration. 

'Why,'  said  he  as  bold  as  brass, '  precisely  the  same 
reason  which  you  gave  to  my  friend  George  Kelly,' 
in  which  answer  Wogan  hit  the  literal  truth,  although 
her  ladyship  looked  puzzled,  as  well  she  might,  and 
then  flushed  a  fine  crimson. 

However,  she  made  up  an  ingenious  story,  and  that 
same  day  hinted  rather  than  told  it  with  a  pretty  sug- 
gestion of  sympathy  which  quite  melted  Mr.  Kelly's 
heart,  and  threw  Wogan  into  some  doubt  whether  to 
believe  her  or  no.  Scrope,  it  appeared,  had  been  at 
some  indefinite  time  a  secretary  to  Mr.  Walpole,  and 
was  entrusted  with  the  keeping  of  the  good  man's 
accounts.  Lady  Oxford  was  then  simply  Mistress 
Margaret  Middleton  and  intimate  with  her  cousin, 
Mr.  Walpole,  although  since  her  marriage,  as  Mr. 
Kelly  and  his  friend  were  requested  to  note,  that 
intimacy  had  entirely  ceased.  Hence  it  came  about 
that  the  rash  Scrope  cast  longing  eyes  upon  the 
humble  relation  of  his  patron,  and   was   indeed  so 


PARSON    KELLY  83 

carried  away  by  passion  that  Margaret  was  forced  now 
and  again  to  chide  him  for  the  forwardness  of  his 
demeanour.  Also,  alas !  he  transgressed  in  a  more 
serious  way.  For  Mr.  Walpole's  accounts  fell  into 
the  saddest  disorder ;  there  were  sums  of  money  of 
which  no  trace  could  be  found  until  —  well,  the  de- 
plorable afifair  was  hushed  up,  Mr.  Scrope  was  turned 
off  and  set  down  his  dismissal  to  Margaret,  who, 
gentle  soul,  would  not  have  hurt  a  fly.  From  that 
time  he  had  not  spared  her  his  resentment,  and  would 
go  miles  out  of  his  way  if  by  any  chance  he  might 
fix  a  slight  upon  her.  Which  conduct  she  most  Chris- 
tianly  forgave,  since  indeed  the  poor  man's  head  must 
needs  be  turned. 

'  Yet  he  had  all  the  appearances  of  prosperity,' 
objected  Wogan. 

'  I  fancied  that  I  said  that  there  were  large  sums 
missing,'  replied  her  ladyship. 

*  Yes,  you  did  indeed  say  so,'  said  Mr.  Kelly,  '  but 
you  avoided  the  implication  out  of  your  generous  pity.' 

It  is  not  in  truth  very  difificult  to  befool  a  man  who 
does  half  the  fooling  himself.  Mr.  Kelly  was  alto- 
gether appeased  by  Lady  Oxford's  explanation, 
which  to  his  friend  seemed  to  explain  nothing,  but 
none  the  less  he  readily  acknowledged  to  Wogan  the 
propriety  of  hurrying  his  business  to  a  close. 

'  To  tell  the  truth,'  said  Wogan,  as  soon  as  her 
ladyship  had  withdrawn,  '  I  feel  my  cravat  stifTening 
prophetically  about  my  neck.  My  presence  does 
not  help  you;  indeed,  it  is  another  danger;  and 
since  we  are  but  a  few  miles  from  Aberystwith,  I  am 
thinking  that  I  could  do  nothing  wiser  than  start 
for  that  port  to-night.' 


84  PARSON    KELLY 

The  Parson  drew  figures  with  his  forefinger  on 
the  table  for  a  while  ;  then : 

'  I  would  not  have  you  go,'  he  said  slowly.  '  I  will 
use  what  despatch  I  may;  but  I  would  not  have 
you  go,  and  leave  me  here.' 

Kelly  was  true  to  his  word,  and  used  so  much 
despatch  that  within  two  days  he  extorted  a  promise 
from  Lord  Oxford  to  undertake  the  muslin  trade 
in  England,  as  the  cant  phrase  went.  Possibly  he 
might  have  won  that  same  promise  before  had  he 
used  the  same  despatch.  But  Lord  Oxford's  foible 
was  to  hold  long  discourses,  and  Mr.  Pope  truly 
said  that  he  had  an  epical  habit  of  beginning  every- 
thing at  the  middle.  However  it  may  be,  the  two 
men  left  the  Manor  on  the  morning  of  the  third 
day.  Wogan  drove  back  with  the  Parson  as  far 
as  Worcester,  who  for  the  first  few  miles  remained 
in  a  melancholy  silence,  and  then  burst  out  of  a 
sudden. 

'  To  think  that  she  should  be  mewed  up  in  a 
corner  of  Herefordshire,  with  no  companions  but 
drunken  rustics  !     Mated  to  an  old  pantaloon,  too  !  ' 

'  Sure  it  was  her  ladyship's  own  doing,'  murmured 
Wogan. 

'  No  woman  in  all  London  could  hold  a  candle 
to  her.  And  we  distrusted  her  —  we  distrusted  her, 
Nick.'  He  beat  a  clenched  fist  into  the  palm  of 
his  other  hand  to  emphasise  the  enormity  of  the 
crime.     '  Why,  what  impertinent  fools  men  are  ! ' 

Then  he  again  relapsed  into  silence  and  again 
broke  out. 

'  Damme !  but  Fortune  plays  bitter  tricks  upon 
the  world.     'T  is  all  very  well  to  strike  at  a  pair  of 


PARSON   KELLY  85 

rascals  like  you  and  me,  Nick,  but  she  strikes  at  those 
who  offend  her  least.  Faith,  but  I  am  bewildered. 
Here  is  a  woman  indisputably  born  to  be  a  queen 
and  she  is  a  nurse.  And  no  better  prospect  when 
my  lord  dies  than  a  poor  jointure  and  a  dull  Dower 
House.' 

'Oh,  she  told  you  that,  did  she?'  said  Wogan. 
*  Sure  it  was  a  queenly  complaint.' 

'  She  made  no  complaint,'  said  Kelly  fiercely. 
'She  would  not  —  she  could  not.  It  is  a  woman 
of  unexampled  patience.' 

He  grumbled  into  silence,  and  his  thoughts 
changed   and  turned  moodily  about   himself. 

'Why  did  I  ever  preach  that  sermon?'  he 
exclaimed.  '  But  for  that  I  might  now  have  the 
care  of  half-a-dozen  rambling  parishes.  Instead  of 
hurrying  and  scurrying  from  one  end  of  Europe 
to  the  other,  at  the  risk  of  my  neck,  I  might  sit 
of  an  evening  by  the  peat  fire  of  an  inn  kitchen 
and  give  the  law  to  my  neighbour.  I  might  have 
a  little  country  parsonage  all  trailed  over  with  roses, 
and  leisure  to  ensure  preferment  by  my  studies 
and  enjoy  the  wisdom  of  my  Latin  friend  Tully. 
I  might  have  a  wife,  too/  he  added,  '  and  maybe 
half  a  score  of  children  to  plague  me  out  of  my 
five  wits  with  their  rogueries.' 

He  fetched  up  a  sigh  as  he  ended  which  would 
have  done  credit  to  my  Lady  Oxford ;  and  Wogan, 
seeing  his  friend  in  this  unwonted  pother,  was 
minded  to  laugh  him  out  of  it. 

'And  a  credit  to  your  cloth  you  would  have 
been,'  says  he.  '  Why,  it 's  a  bottle  you  would 
have  taken  into  the  pulpit  with  you,  and  a  mighty 


86  PARSON   KELLY 

big  tumbler  to  measure  your  discourse  by.  Indeed 
there  would  have  been  but  one  point  of  resemblance 
between  yourself  and  your  worthier  brethren,  and 
that's  the  number  of  times  you  turned  your  glass 
upside  down  before  you  came  to  an  end.' 

Kelly,  however,  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  his 
melancholy.  The  picture  of  the  parsonage  was 
too  vivid  on  the  canvas  of  his  desires.  And  since 
he  dreamed  of  one  impossibility,  no  doubt  he  went 
a  step  further  and  dreamed  of  another  besides. 
No  doubt  his  picture  of  the  parsonage  showed  the 
figure  of  the  parson's  wife,  and  no  doubt  the 
parson's  wife  was  very  like  to  my  Lady  Oxford. 

Wogan,  though  he  had  laughed,  was,  to  tell  the 
truth,  somewhat  disturbed,  and  began  to  reckon 
up  how  much  he  was  himself  to  blame  for  setting 
Kelly's  thoughts  towards  her  ladyship.  He  had 
not  thought  that  his  friend  had  taken  the  woman 
so  much  to  heart.  But  whenever  the  Parson  fell  a 
dreaming  of  a  quiet  life  and  the  cure  of  souls,  it 
was  a  sure  sign  the  world  was  going  very  ill  with  him. 

'  I  would  have  you  remember,  George,'  said 
Wogan,  '  that  not  so  long  ago  I  saw  you  stand 
up  before  a  certain  company  in  Paris  and  cry  out 
with  an  honest  —  ay,  an  honest  passion,  "May 
nothing  come  between  the  Cause  and  me  !  " ' 

Kelly  flushed  as  his  words  were  recalled  to  him 
and  turned  his  head  away.  Wogan  held  out  his 
hand. 

'  George,  am  I  then  to  understand  that  something 
has  come  between  the  Cause  and  you?'  And  he 
had  to  repeat  the  question  before  he  got  an  answer. 
Then  Kelly  turned  back. 


PARSON   KELLY  87 

*  Understand  nothing,  Nick,  but  that  I  am  a  fool,' 
he  cried  heartily,  and  slapped  his  hand  into  Wogan's. 
'True,  the  Cause,  the  Cause,'  he  muttered  to  himself 
once  or  twice.  After  all,  Nick,'  he  said,  '  we  have  got 
the  old  man's  assurance.  My  Lord  Oxford  will  lend 
a  hand.  We  have  not  failed  the  Cause.'  And  they 
did  not  speak  again  until  they  drove  into  Worcester. 
Then  Kelly  turned  to  Nick  with  a  sad  sort  of  smile. 

'Well,  have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me?  '  said  he. 

Mr.  Wogan  could  discover  nothing  to  say  until  he 
had  stepped  out  of  the  chaise  at  the  post-house  and 
was  shaking  his  friend's  hand.  Then  he  delivered 
himself  of  the  soundest  piece  of  philosophy  imagin- 
able. 

'Woman,'  he  said,  'is  very  much  like  a  jelly-fish 
—  very  pretty  and  pink  and  transparent  to  look  at, 
but  with  a  devil  of  a  sting  if  you  touch  it.' 


CHAPTER  VII 

LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU   HAS  A  WORD 
TO  SAY  ABOUT  SMILINDA 

FROM  Worcester  Nicholas  Wogan  made  his  way 
to  Bristol,  and,  taking  passage  there  on  a 
brigantine  bound  for  Havre-de-Grace  with  a  cargo  of 
linen,  got  safely  over  into  France.  He  travelled 
forthwith  to  Paris  that  he  might  put  himself  at  the 
disposition  of  General  Dillon,  and,  being  commanded 
to  supper  some  few  days  after  his  arrival  by  the 
Duke  of  Mar,  saw  a  familiar  swarthy  face  nodding 
cheerily  at  him  across  the  table.  The  lady  was 
embrowned  with  the  Eastern  sun,  and,  having  lost 
her  eye-lashes  by  that  disease  which  she  fought  so 
manfully  to  conquer,  her  eyes  were  fierce  and  mar- 
tial. It  was  indeed  the  face  of  the  redoubtable  Lady 
Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  sister  to  the  Duchess  of 
Mar,  who  chanced  to  be  passing  through  Paris  on 
her  travels  from  Constantinople.  Wogan  remem- 
bered that  Mr.  Kelly's  rustic  friend  at  Brampton 
Bryan  had  spoken  of  Lady  Mary  with  considerable 
spleen.  And  since  he  began  to  harbour  doubts  of 
her  rusticity,  he  determined  to  seek  some  certain 
information  from  Lady  Mary, 

Lady  Mary  was  for  a  wonder  in  a  most  amiable 
mood,  and  had  more  than  one  question  to  put  con- 


PARSON    KELLY  89 

cerning  *  Kelly  as  the  Bishop  that  was  to  be  when 
your  King  came  to  his  own.' 

'  Why,  madam,  he  has  a  new  friend,'  said  Wogan. 

Lady  Mary  maybe  caught  a  suspicion  of  uneasiness 
in  Wogan's  tone.     She  cocked  her  head  whimsically. 

'  A  woman?' 

•Yes.' 

'Who?' 

'  My  Lady  Oxford.' 

Lady  Mary  made  a  round  O  of  her  lips,  drew  in  a 
breath,  and  blew  it  out  again. 

*  There  go  the  lawn-sleeves.' 

Wogan  took  a  seat  by  her  side. 

•Why?' 

Lady  Mary  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

'  In  what  esteem  is  she  held?'  continued  Wogan, 
'  of  what  character  is  she?  ' 

'I  could  never  hear,'  returned  Lady  Mary  carelessly. 
*  For  her  friends  always  stopped  abruptly  when  they 
chanced  upon  her  character,  and  the  rest  was  merely 
pursed  lips  and  screwed-up  eyes,  which  it  would  be 
the  unfairest  thing  in  the  world  to  translate  in  her 
disfavour.  Her  character,  Mr.  Wogan,  is  a  tender 
and  delicate  plant.  It  will  not  grow  under  glass,  but 
in  a  dark  room,  where  I  believe  it  flourishes  most 
invisibly.' 

Lady  Mary  seemed  ill-disposed  to  pursue  the 
topic,  and  began  to  talk  of  her  journey  and  the  great 
things  she  had  seen  at  Constantinople.  Wogan 
waited  until  she  came  to  a  pause,  and  then  stepped 
in  with  another  question. 

'Is  Lady  Oxford  political?  ' 

'  Lady    Oxford !    Lady     Oxford ! '    she     repeated 


90  PARSON    KELLY 

almost  pettishly.  '  Upon  my  word,  the  woman  has 
infected  you.  You  can  speak  of  nothing  else. 
Political?'  and  she  laughed  maliciously.  'That  she 
is,  and  on  both  sides.  She  changes  her  party  more 
often  than  an  ambitious  statesman.  For  politics  to 
my  Lady  Oxford  are  just  pawns  in  the  great  game 
of  Love.' 

'  Oh,  Love,'  exclaimed  Wogan,  with  a  recollection 
of  Mr.  Scrope.     '  Is  Love  her  quarry?' 

*  She  will  play  cat  to  any  man's  mouse,'  returned 
Lady  Mary  indifferently. 

'And  there  are  many  mice?' 

Lady  Mary  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  made  no 
reply.  However,  Wogan's  appetite  for  information 
was  only  whetted,  and  to  provoke  Lady  Mary  to 
speak  more  freely  he  made  an  inventory  of  Lady 
Oxford's  charms.  He  dwelt  on  her  attractions. 
Lady  Mary  played  with  her  fan,  pulled  savagely  at 
the  feathers,  opened  it,  shut  it  up,  while  Wogan  dis- 
coursed serenely  on  item  —  a  dark  eye,  big,  with  a 
glint  of  light  in  it  like  sunshine  through  a  thunder- 
cloud. Lady  Mary  laughed  scornfully.  Wogan 
went  on  to  item  —  a  profusion  of  blackish-brown  hair, 
very  silky,  with  a  gloss,  and  here  and  there  a  gold 
thread  in  the  brown  ;  item  —  a  Barbary  shape  ;  item 
—  an  admirable  instep  and  a  most  engaging  ankle. 

'  It  would  look  very  pretty  in  the  stocks,'  Lady 
Mary  snapped  out. 

Wogan  shook  his  head  with  a  knowing  air. 

*  'T  would  slip  out' 

*  Not  if  I  had  the  locking  of  it  in,'  she  exclaimed 
with  a  vicious  stamp  of  the  foot,  and  rose,  as  though 
to  cross  the  room. 


PARSON    KELLY  91 

*  I  have  omitted  the  lady's  most  adorable  merit,' 
said  Wogan  thoughtfully.  Lady  Mary  was  alto- 
gether human,  and  did  not  cross  the  room. 

'  She  has  the  greatest  affection  for  your  ladyship. 
She  spoke  of  your  ladyship  indeed  in  quite  unmeas- 
ured terms,  and  while  praising  your  ladyship's  wit 
would  not  have  it  that  one  single  spark  was  due  to 
the  cleverness  of  your  ladyship's  friends.  Upon  that 
point  she  was  most  strenuous.' 

Lady  Mary  sat  down  again.  The  stroke  had  evi- 
dently told. 

'  I  am  most  grateful  to  her,'  she  said,  '  and  when 
did  Lady  Oxford  show  such  a  sweet  condescension 
towards  me? ' 

'  But  a  few  weeks  ago  at  Brampton  Bryan,  where  she 
was  nursing  her  husband  with  an  assiduous  devotion.' 

'  I  have  known  her  show  the  like  devotion  before, 
when  her  losses  at  cards  have  driven  her  from 
London.' 

*  So  she  gambles?  '  inquired  Wogan.  *  Altogether, 
then,  a  dangerous  friend  for  George.' 

Lady  Mary  nodded. 

*  Particularly  for  George,'  said  she  with  a  smile. 
'  For  observe,  she  is  compact  of  wiles,  and  so  is  most 
dangerous  to  an  honest  man.  She  is  at  once  insatia- 
ble in  her  desires,  and  implacable  if  they  are  not 
fulfilled.  She  is  always  in  love,  and  knows  nothing 
of  what  the  word  means.  She  is  tender  at  times,  but 
only  through  caprice ;  she  is  never  faithful  except 
for  profit  or  lack  of  occasion  to  be  anything  else. 
Coquetry  is  the  abiding  principle  of  her  nature,  and 
her  virtue  merely  a  habit  of  hiding  her  coquetry. 
Her  mind  is  larded  with  affectations  as  is  her  face 


92 


PARSON    KELLY 


with  paint,  and  once  or  twice  she  has  been  known  to 
weep  —  when  tears  were  Hkely  to  deceive  a  man. 
There,  Mr.  Wogan,  you  have  her  Hkeness,  and  I 
trust  you  are  satisfied.' 

It  was  not  a  character  very  much  to  Wogan's 
hking  (Lady  Mary,  he  learned  later,  was  quoting 
from  a  manuscript  'portrait'  of  her  own  designing), 
though  he  drew  a  spice  of  comfort  from  the  thought 
that  Lady  Mary  might  have  coloured  the  effigy  with 
her  unmistakable  enmity.  But  events  proved  that  she 
had  not  over-coloured  it,  and  even  at  that  time  Lady 
Oxford  had  no  better  reputation  than  Lady  Mary 
Wortley  attributed  to  her.  The  ballad-makers  called 
her  gallant,  and  they  did  her  no  wrong  —  the  ballad- 
makers  of  the  ruelles,  be  it  understood,  not  they  of 
the  streets,  but  such  poets  as  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu  herself  and  his  Grace  Sophia  of  Wharton.^ 
The  street-singers  knew  not  Lady  Oxford,  who, 
indeed,  was  on  the  top  of  the  fashion,  and  could  hold 
her  own  in  the  war  of  written  verses.  It  was  in  truth 
to  her  ability  to  give  as  good  as  she  took  in  the 
matter  of  ballads  that  she  owed  Lady  Mary's  hostility, 
who  had  no  taste  for  the  counter-stroke.  There  were 
many  such  daring  Penthesileas  of  the  pen  who  never 
gave  each  other  quarter;  but  neither  Wogan  nor  the 
Parson  were  at  this  time  in  their  secrets,  although 
subsequently  a  ballad,  not  from  Lady  Mary's  pen, 
was  to  have  an  astonishing  effect  upon  their  fortunes. 

'  Your  ladyship  can  help  me  to  make  the  best  of 
it,  at  all  events,'  said  Wogan.  '  Since  you  have  told 
me  so  much,  will  you  tell  me  this  one  thing  more? 
Have  you  ever  heard  of  Mr.  Scrope?  ' 

J  Sophia,  a  nickname  of  the  Z?«^v  of  Wharton. 


PARSON    KELLY  93 

'Scrope?  Scrope?'  said  she  casting  about  in  her 
recollections.  VVogan  told  her  the  story  of  Mr. 
Scrope's  appearance  at  Brampton  Bryan,  and  the 
explanation  which  Lady  Oxford  had  given  to  account 
for  it.     Lady  Mary  laughed  heartily. 

'  Secretary  to  Mr.  Walpole?  '  she  said.  *  And  how, 
then,  did  he  come  to  hear  that  mad  sermon  of  Mr. 
Kelly's  at  Dublin?' 

'  Sure  I  have  been  puzzled  to  account  for  that  my- 
self,'says  Wogan.  'But  who  is  he?  Where  does  he 
come  from?  What  brought  him  to  Brampton  Bryan? 
What  took  him  away  in  such  a  mighty  hurry?  For 
upon  my  word  I  find  it  difficult  to  believe  the  man  's 
a  coward.' 

*  And  you  are  in  the  right,'  replied  her  ladyship. 
'  I  know  something  of  Mr.  Scrope,  and  I  will  wager 
it  was  no  cowardice  made  him  run,  I  doubt  you 
have  not  seen  the  last  of  Mr.  Scrope.  It  is  a  passion- 
ate, determined  sort  of  creature.  He  came  to  Lon- 
don a  year  or  so  agone.  It  was  understood  that  he 
was  a  country  gentleman  with  a  comfortable  estate 
in  Leicestershire.  He  had  laid  his  estate  at  Lady 
Oxford's  feet,  before  she  was  as  yet  her  ladyship. 
Lady  Oxford  would  have  it,  and  then  would  have 
none  of  it,  and  married  the  Earl.  Well,  he  had  been 
her  valet  for  a  season,  and,  I  have  no  doubt,  thought 
the  service  worth  any  price.  She  gave  him  her  fan 
to  hold,  her  gloves  to  caress,  and  what  more  can  a 
man  want?  He  spent  much  of  his  money,  and  some 
whisper  that  he  turned  informer  afterwards.' 

*  Oh,  did  he?'  asked  Wogan,  who  was  now  yet 
more  concerned  that  he  had  let  the  informer  slip 
through  his  fingers. 


94  PARSON    KELLY 

'  Yes.  An  informer  for  conscience'  sake  —  a  gen- 
tleman spy.  His  father  died  for  Monmoutli's  affair. 
He  has  ever  hated  the  Pretender  and  his  cause.  He 
is  a  Protestant  and  a  fanatic' 

Then  she  looked  at  Wogan  and  began  to  laugh. 

*  I  would  have  given  much  to  have  seen  you  bounc- 
ing down  the  road  after  Mr.  Scrope's  chaise,'  and  she 
added  seriously, '  But  I  doubt  you  have  not  heard  the 
last  of  Mr.  Scrope.' 

That  also  was  Wogan's  thought.  For  Lady  Mary's 
story,  though  vague  enough,  was  sufficiently  clear  to 
deepen  his  disquietude.  Well,  Mr.  Wogan  would  get 
no  comfort  by  the  mere  addling  his  brains  with  think- 
ing of  the  matter,  and  he  thrust  it  forth  of  his  mind 
and  went  upon  his  way,  that  led  him  clean  out  of  the 
path  of  this  story  for  a  while.  He  was  despatched  to 
Cadiz  to  take  charge  of  a  ship,  and,  in  company  with 
Captain  Galloway  of  the  Resolution,  who  was  after- 
wards seized  at  Genoa,  and  Morgan,  of  the  Lady 
Mary,  he  spent  much  fruitless  time  in  cruising  on 
and  off  the  coasts  of  France,  Spain,  and  Sweden.  It 
was  given  out  that  they  carried  snuff,  or  were  en- 
gaged in  the  Madagascar  trade.  But  they  took  no 
cargoes  aboard  but  barrels  of  powder  and  stands  of 
arms,  and  waited  on  the  Rising,  which  never  came. 
There  were  weeks  idled  away  at  Morlaix,  at  Roscoff 
in  Brittany,  at  Lisbon  in  Portugal,  at  Alicant  Bay  in 
Spain,  until  Wogan's  heart  grew  sick  with  impatience. 
At  rare  times,  when  the  venture  wore  a  face  of  prom- 
ise, the  little  fleet  would  run  the  hazard  of  the 
Channel  and  creep  along  the  English  coast,  from 
Dartmouth,  across  the  West  Bay  to  Portland,  from 
Portland  on  to  the  Isle  of  Wight.     Mr.  Wogan  would 


PARSON    KELLY  95 

pace  the  deck  of  his  httle  ketch,  Fortune,  of  a  night, 
and  as  he  looked  at  the  quiet  fields  lying  dark  be- 
neath the  sky,  would  wonder  how  the  world  wagged 
for  his  friend  the  Parson,  and  whether  my  Lady 
Oxford  was  shaping  it  or  no,  until  a  longing  would 
seize  on  him  to  drop  a  boat  into  the  water  and  him- 
self into  the  boat,  and  row  ashore  and  see.  But  it 
was  not  for  more  than  a  full  twelve  months  that  his 
longing  was  fulfilled,  and  during  those  twelve  months 
the  harm  was  done. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MR.  KELLY  HAS  AN  ADVENTURE  AT  A  MASQUERADE 

BALL 

FOR  the  greater  part  of  that  year  Mr.  Kelly 
simply  went  about  his  business.  He  travelled 
backwards  and  forwards  from  General  Dillon,  Lord 
Lansdowne,  the  Duke  of  Mar,  in  Paris,  to  the  Bishop 
of  Rochester,  in  London,  and  from  the  Bishop  to  the 
others  of  the  five  who  mismanaged  the  Chevalier's 
affairs  in  England,  Lord  Arran,  Lord  Strafford,  Lord 
North  and  Grey,  Lord  Orrery,  and  last,  though  not 
least,  the  Earl  of  Oxford.  Thus  business  brought 
him  more  than  once  knocking  again  at  the  doors  of 
Brampton  Bryan  Manor,  though  he  did  not  always 
find  her  ladyship  at  home  to  welcome  him.  On  such 
occasions  he  found  the  great  house  very  desolate  for 
the  want  of  her  footstep  and  her  voice,  and  so  would 
pull  out  his  watch  and  fall  to  wondering  what  at  that 
precise  moment  she  was  engaged  upon  in  town. 

Thus  things  dallied,  then,  until  a  warm  wet  night 
of  summer  in  the  year  1720.  Mr.  Kelly  was  in  Lon- 
don and  betook  himself  to  His  Majesty's  Theatre  in 
Drury  Lane,  where  he  witnessed  a  farce  which  was 
very  much  to  his  taste.  It  was  entitled  '  South-Sea; 
or  the  Biter  Bit,'  and  was  happy  not  merely  in  its 
quips,  but  in  the  moment  of  its  performance.     For 


PARSON    KELLY  97 

the  King,  or,  as  the  honest  party  called  hira,  the 
Elector,  and  his  lords  had  sold  out,  and  were  off  to 
Germany  with  their  plunder,  and  the  stocks  were 
falling  by  hundreds  every  week.  Mr.  Kelly  might 
well  laugh  at  the  sallies  on  the  stage  and  the  wry 
faces  with  which  the  pit  and  boxes  received  them. 
For  he  had  recently  sold  out  his  actions  in  the  Mis- 
sissippi scheme  at  a  profit  of  1,200  per  cent.,  and  had 
his  money  safe  locked  up  at  Mr.  Child's,  the  gold- 
smith. Kelly's,  however,  was  not  a  mere  wanton 
pleasure.  For  the  floating  of  the  bubble  out  of  reach 
meant  a  very  solid  change  in  the  Jacobite  prospects. 
So  long  as  the  South-Sea  scheme  prospered  and  all 
the  town  grew  wealthy,  there  would  be  no  talk  of 
changing  kings  and  no  chance  for  Mr.  Kelly's  friends. 
That  great  and  patriotic  bishop  whom  he  served,  my 
Lord  of  Rochester,  had  said  to  him  this  many  a 
month  past,  '  Let  'em  forget  their  politics,  let  'em  all 
run  mad  in  Change  Alley,  and  the  madder  the  better. 
For  the  funds  will  fall  and  be  the  ruin  of  thousands, 
and  when  England  is  sunk  into  a  salutary  wretched- 
ness and  discontent,  then  our  opportunity  will  come.' 

It  was  altogether,  then,  in  a  very  good  humour 
that  Mr.  Kelly  left  the  theatre.  The  night  was 
young,  and  he  disinclined  for  his  lodgings.  He 
strolled  across  to  the  Groom  Porters,  in  White  Hall, 
where  his  spirits  were  mightily  increased.  For  tak- 
ing a  hand  there  at  Bassette,  in  three  deals  he  won 
nine  rich  septlevas,  and,  for  once,  did  not  need  the 
money,  and  when  he  left  the  Groom  Porters  his 
pockets  were  heavy  with  gold,  and  his  head  swim- 
ming with  the  fumes  of  punch. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  those  same  fumes 

7 


98  PARSON    KELLY 

of  punch  floated  Lady  Oxford  into  Mr.  Kelly's 
mind.  He  swaggered  up  St.  James's  Street  with  her 
ladyship  consequently  riding  atop  of  his  bemused 
fancies.  It  was  a  gay  hour  in  St.  James's,  being  then 
about  half  past  one  of  the  morning.  Music  rippled 
out  of  windows  open  on  the  night.  Kelly  heard  the 
dice  rattle  within  and  the  gold  clink  on  the  green 
cloth ;  lovers  were  whispering  on  the  balconies  ;  the 
world  seemed  to  be  going  very  well  for  those  who 
had  not  their  money  in  the  Bubble,  and  for  no  one 
better  than  for  Mr.  Kelly.  He  looked  about  him,  if 
by  chance  he  might  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  divinity 
among  the  ladies  of  fashion  as  he  watched  them 
getting  into  their  chairs,  pushing  their  hoops  sidelong 
before  them,  and  the  flambeaux  flaring  on  their  per- 
fections. He  imagined  himself  a  Paladin  rescuing 
her  from  innumerable  foes.  She  was  an  angel,  a 
sprite,  a  Hamadryad,  in  fact  everything  tender  and 
immaterial. 

He  was  roused  from  these  dreams  by  an  illumina- 
tion of  more  than  ordinary  brillancy,  and  looking  up 
saw  that  he  had  wandered  to  the  theatre  in  the  Hay- 
market.  A  ragged  crowd  of  pickpockets  and  the 
like  was  gathered  about  the  portico.  Carriages  and 
chairs  set  down  in  quick  succession,  ladies  in  domi- 
noes, gentlemen  in  masks.  Mr.  Kelly  remembered 
that  it  was  a  night  of  the  masquerades  ;  all  the  world 
would  be  gathered  in  the  theatre,  and  why  not  Lady 
Oxford,  who  was  herself  the  better  half  of  it  ?  Kelly 
had  a  ticket  in  his  pocket,  pushed  through  the  loiter- 
ers, and  stood  on  the  inner  rim  of  the  crowd  watching 
the  masqucraders  arrive.  Every  carriage  that  drew 
up  surely  concealed  her  ladyship,  every  domino  that 


PARSON    KELLY  99 

passed  up  the  steps  hid  her  incomparable  figure. 
Mr.  Kelly  had  staked  his  soul  with  unruffled  confi- 
dence upon  her  identity  with  each  of  the  first  twelve 
women  who  thus  descended  before  he  realised  that 
he  was  not  the  only  one  who  waited.  From  the  spot 
where  he  stood  he  could  see  into  the  lobby  of  the 
theatre.  Heidegger,  M.  le  surintendant  des  plaisirs 
du  Roi  de  I'Angleterre, 

'With  a  hundred  deep  wrinkles  impressed  on  his  front, 
Like  a  map  with  a  great  many  rivers  upon  't,' 

was  receiving  the  more  important  of  his  guests.  The 
guests  filed  past  him  into  the  parterre,  Heidegger 
remained.  .  But  another  man  loitered  ever  in  the 
lobby  too.  He  was  evidently  expecting  someone, 
and  that  with  impatience.  For  as  each  coach  or 
chaise  drew  up  he  peered  eagerly  forward ;  as  it 
delivered  its  occupants  he  turned  discontentedly 
away.  It  is  perhaps  doubtful  whether  Mr.  Kelly 
would  have  paid  him  any  great  attention  but  for  his 
dress,  which  arrested  all  eyes  and  caused  the  more 
tender  of  the  ladies  who  passed  him  to  draw  their 
cloaks  closer  about  them  with  a  gesture  of  disgust. 
For  he  was  attired  to  represent  a  headsman,  being 
from  head  to  foot  in  black,  with  a  crape  mask  upon 
his  face  and  a  headsman's  axe  in  his  hand.  He  had 
carried  his  intention  out  with  such  thoroughness, 
moreover,  that  he  had  daubed  his  doublet  and  hose 
with  red. 

Mr.  Kelly  was  in  a  mood  to  be  charmed  by  every- 
thing strange  and  eccentric,  and  the  presence  of  this 
bloodsmeared  executioner  at  a  masquerade  seemed 
to  him  a  piece  of  the  most  delicate  drollery.     More- 


loo  PARSON    KELLY 

over,  the  executioner  was  waiting  like  Mr.  Kelly,  and 
with  a  like  anxiety.  Mr.  Kelly  had  a  fellow-feeling 
for  him  in  his  impatience  which  prompted  him  sud- 
denly to  run  up  the  steps  and  accost  him. 

'  Like  me,  you  are  doubtless  waiting  for  your  aunt,' 
said  the  Parson  courteously. 

The  impulse,  the  movement,  the  words  had  all  been 
the  matter  of  a  second ;  but  the  executioner  was 
more  than  naturally  startled,  as  Mr.  Kelly  might  have 
perceived  had  he  possessed  his  five  wits.  For  the 
man  leaped  rather  than  stepped  back ;  he  gave  a 
gasp ;  his  hand  gripped  tight  about  the  handle  of 
his  axe.     Then  he  stepped  close  to  Kelly. 

'  You  know  me?  '  he  said.  The  voice  was  muffled, 
the  accent  one  of  menace.  Kelly  noticed  neither 
the  voice  nor  the  menace.  He  bowed  with  cere- 
mony. 

'  Without  a  doubt.     You  are  M.  de  Strasbourg.' 

The  headsman  laughed  abruptly  like  a  man  relieved. 

'  You  and  I,'  he  returned,  mimicking  Kelly's 
politeness  of  manner,  '  will  be  better  acquainted  in 
the  future.' 

Kelly  was  overjoyed  with  the  rejoinder.  '  Here  's  a 
devil  of  a  fellow  for  you,'  he  cried,  and  with  his  elbow 
nudged  Heidegger  in  the  ribs.  Heidegger  was  at 
that  moment  bent  to  the  ground  before  the  Duchess 
of  Wharton,  and  nearly  stumbled  over  her  Grace's 
train.  He  turned  in  a  passion  as  soon  as  the  Duchess 
had  passed. 

*  Vas  you  do  dat  for  dam?  '  he  said  all  in  a  breath. 
Kelly  however  was  engaged  in  contemplating  the 
executioner.  He  ran  his  thumb  along  the  edge  of 
the  axe. 


PARSON    KELLY  loi 

'  It  is  cruelly  blunt,'  said  he. 

*  You  need  not  fear,'  returned  the  other.  For 
your  worship  is  only  entitled  to  a  cord.' 

'  Oh,  so  you  know  me,'  says  Kelly,  stepping  close 
to  the  executioner. 

*  Without  a  doubt,'  replied  the  latter,  stepping 
back,  '  Monsieur  le  Marchand  de  dentelles.' 

It  was  Kelly's  turn  to  be  startled,  and  that  he  was 
effectually ;  he  was  shocked  into  a  complete  recovery 
of  his  senses  and  an  accurate  estimation  of  his  folly. 
He  walked  to  the  entrance  and  stood  upon  the  steps. 
The  executioner  knew  him,  knew  something  of  his 
trade.  Who,  then,  was  M.  de  Strasbourg?  Kelly 
recalled  the  tones  of  his  voice,  conned  them  over  in 
his  mind,  and  was  not  a  penny  the  wiser.  He 
glanced  backwards  furtively  across  his  shoulder  and 
looked  the  man  over  from  head  to  foot. 

At  that  moment  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the 
entrance.  Mr.  Kelly  was  standing  on  the  top  of  the 
steps  and  the  face  of  the  coachman  on  the  box  was 
just  on  a  level  with  his  own.  He  stared,  in  a  word, 
right  at  it,  and  so  took  unconsciously  an  impression 
of  it  upon  his  mind,  while  pondering  how  he  should  act 
with  regard  to  M.  de  Strasbourg.  Consequently  he 
did  not  notice  that  a  woman  stepped  out  of  the  car- 
riage and,  without  looking  to  the  right  or  left,  quickly 
mounted  the  steps.  His  eyes,  in  fact,  were  still  fixed 
upon  the  coachman's  face ;  and  it  needed  the  brush- 
ing of  her  cloak  against  his  legs  to  rouse  him  from 
his  reflections. 

He  turned  about  just  as  she  disappeared  at  the  far 
end  of  the  lobby.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  white 
velvet  cloak  and  an  inch  of  blue  satin  petticoat  under 


102  PARSON    KELLY 

a  muffling  domino.  He  also  saw  that  M,  de  Stras- 
bourg was  drawn  close  behind  a  pillar,  as  though  he 
wished  to  avoid  the  lady.  As  soon,  however,  as  she 
had  vanished  he  came  boldly  out  of  his  concealment 
and  followed  her  into  the  theatre.  Mr.  Kelly  began 
instantly  to  wonder  whether  a  closer  view  of  the 
domino  would  help  him  discover  who  M.  de  Stras- 
bourg really  was,  and  entering  the  theatre  he  went 
up  into  the  boxes. 

At  first  his  eyes  were  bedazzled  by  the  glitter  of 
lights  and  jewels  and  the  motley  throng  which  paraded 
the  floor.  There  was  the  usual  medley  of  Chinese, 
Turks,  and  friars;  here  was  a  gentleman  above  six 
feet  high  dressed  like  a  child  in  a  white  frock  and 
leading  strings  and  attended  by  another  of  very  low 
stature,  who  fed  him  from  time  to  time  with  a  pap- 
spoon  ;  there  was  a  soldier  prancing  a  minuet  upon  a 
hobby  horse  to  the  infinite  discomfort  of  his  neigh- 
bours ;  and  as  for  the  women  —  it  seemed  to  Mr. 
Kelly  that  all  the  goddesses  of  the  heathen  m}'- 
thology  had  come  down  from  Olympia  in  their 
customary  neglige. 

Among  them  moved  M.  de  Strasbourg  like  a  black 
shadow,  very  distinguishable.  Kelly  kept  his  eyes 
in  the  man's  neighbourhood,  and  in  a  little  perceived 
a  masked  lady  with  her  hair  dressed  in  the  Greek 
fashion.  What  character  she  was  intended  to  repre- 
sent he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  determine.  He 
learnt  subsequently  that  she  went  as  Iphigeneia  — 
Iphigeneia,  if  you  please,  in  a  blue  satin  petticoat.  To 
be  sure  her  bosom  was  bared  for  the  sacrifice,  but 
then  all  the  ladies  in  that  assembly  were  in  the  like 
case.     She  had  joined  a  party  of  friends,  of  whom 


PARSON    KELLY  103 

M.  de  Strasbourg  was  not  one.  For  though  he  kept 
her  ever  within  his  sight,  following  her  hither  and 
thither,  it  was  always  at  a  distance ;  and,  so  far  as 
Kelly  could  see,  and  he  did  not  take  his  eyes  from 
the  pair,  he  never  spoke  to  her  so  much  as  a  single 
word.  On  the  contrary  he  seemed  rather  to  lurk 
behind  and  avoid  her  notice.  Kelly's  curiosity  was 
the  more  provoked  by  this  stealthy  pursuit.  He 
lost  his  sense  of  uneasiness  in  a  wonder  what  the  man 
designed  against  the  woman.  He  determined  to 
wait  the  upshot  of  the  affair. 

The  night  wore  away,  the  masqueraders  thinned. 
The  inch  of  blue  satin  petticoat  took  her  departure 
from  the  parterre.  M.  de  Strasbourg  followed  her; 
Mr.  Kelly  followed  M.  de  Strasbourg. 

The  lobby  was  crowded.  Kelly  threaded  his  way 
through  the  crowd  and  came  out  upon  the  steps. 
He  saw  the  lady,  close  wrapped  again  in  her  velvet 
cloak,  descend  to  her  carriage.  The  coachman 
gathered  up  his  reins  and  took  his  whip  from  its  rest. 
The  movement  chanced  to  attract  Kelly's  eyes.  He 
looked  at  the  coachman,  at  the  first  glance  indiffer- 
ently, at  the  second  with  all  his  attention.  For  this 
was  not  the  same  man  who  had  driven  the  carriage 
to  the  masquerade.  And  then  the  coachman  turned 
his  full  face  towards  Kelly  and  nodded.  He  nodded 
straight  towards  him.  But  was  the  nod  meant  for  him  ? 
No  !     Well,  then,  for  someone  just  behind  his  shoulder. 

Kelly  did  not  turn,  but  stepped  quietly  aside  and 
saw  M.  de  Strasbourg  slip  past  him  down  the  steps. 
So  the  nod  was  meant  for  him.  M.  de  Strasbourg 
was  still  masked,  but  he  had  thrown  a  cloak  about 
his  shoulders  which  in  some  measure  disguised  his 


104  PARSON    KELLY 

dress.  The  mystery  seemed  clear  to  Kelly ;  the  lady 
was  to  be  forcibly  abducted  unless  someone,  say  Mr. 
James  Johnson,  had  a  word  to  say  upon  the  matter. 
The  carriage  turned  and  drove  slowly  through  the 
press  of  chairs  and  shouting  link-boys ;  M.  de  Stras- 
bourg on  the  side-walk  kept  pace  with  the  carriage. 
Kelly  immediately  crossed  the  road,  and,  concealed 
by  the  carriage,  kept  pace  with  M.  de  Strasbourg. 
Thus  they  went  as  far  as  the  corner  of  the  Haymarket, 
and  then  turned  into  Pall  Mall. 

At  this  point  Kelly,  to  be  the  more  ready  should 
the  lady  need  his  assistance,  stepped  off  the  pave- 
ment and  walked  in  the  mud  hard  by  the  hind  wheels 
of  the  carriage.  It  was  now  close  upon  four  of  the 
morning,  but,  fortunately,  very  dark,  and  only  a 
sullen  sort  of  twilight  about  the  south-eastern  fringes 
of  the  sky. 

In  Pall  Mall  the  carriages  were  fewer,  but  the 
coachman  did  not  quicken  his  pace,  doubtless  out  of 
regard  for  M.  de  Strasbourg,  and  at  the  corner  of 
Pall  Mall,  where  the  road  was  quite  empty,  he  jerked 
the  horses  to  a  standstill.  Instantly  M.  de  Stras- 
bourg ran  across  the  road  to  the  carriage,  the  coach- 
man bent  over  on  that  side  to  watch,  and  Mr.  Kelly, 
on  the  other  side,  ran  forward  to  the  box,  M.  de 
Strasbourg  wrenched  open  the  door  and  jumped  into 
the  carriage.  Mr.  Kelly  heard  a  woman's  scream 
and  sprang  on  to  the  box.  The  coachman  turned 
with  a  start.  Before  he  could  shout,  before  he  could 
speak,  Kelly  showed  him  a  pistol  (for  he  went  armed) 
under  the  man's  nose. 

*  One  word,'  said  Kelly,  '  and  I  will  break  your 
ugly  face  in  with  the  stock  of  that,  my  friend.' 


PARSON    KELLY  105 

The  woman  screamed  again ;  M.  de  Strasbourg 
thrust  his  head  out  of  the  window. 

'  Go  on/  he  shouted  with  an  oath,  *  you  know 
where.  At  a  gallop  !  Kill  the  horses,  they  are  not 
mine !  Flog  'em  to  death  so  you  go  but  fast 
enough.' 

'  To  the  right,'  said  Kelly,  quietly. 

The  man  whipped  up  the  horses.  They  started  at 
a  gallop  up  St.  James's  Street. 

'  To  the  right,'  again  whispered  Kelly. 

The  carriage  turned  into  Ryder  Street,  rocking  on 
its  wheels.  M.  de  Strasbourg's  head  was  again  thrust 
from  the  window. 

'  That 's  not  the  way.  Are  you  drunk,  man  ?  —  are 
you  drunk?'  he  cried. 

*  To  the  left,'  says  Kelly,  imperturbably,  and  fin- 
gered the  lock  of  the  pistol  a  little. 

The  carriage  swung  into  Bury  Street 

'  Stop,'  said  Kelly. 

The  coachman  reined  in  his  horses ;  the  carriage 
stopped  with  a  jerk. 

'Where  in  the  devil's  name  have  you  taken  us?' 
cried  M.  de  Strasbourg,  opening  the  door. 

Kelly  sprang  to  the  ground,  ran  round  the  carriage 
to  the  open  door. 

'  To  the  Marchand  de  dentelles,  M.  de  Strasbourg,' 
said  he  with  a  bow.  '  I  have  some  most  elegant 
pieces  oi  point  d' Alencon  for  the  lady's  inspection.' 

M.  de  Strasbourg  was  utterly  dumbfounded.  He 
staggered  back  against  the  panels  of  the  carriage ; 
his  mouth  opened  and  shut ;  it  seemed  there  was  no 
language  sufficiently  chaotic  to  express  his  discom- 
posure.    At  last : 


io6  PARSON    KELLY 

'  You  are  a  damned  impudent  fellow,'  he  gasped 
out  in  a  weak  sort  of  quaver. 

'  Am  I? '  asked  Kelly.     '  Shall  we  ask  the  lady?  ' 

He  peeped  through  the  door.  The  lady  was  hud- 
dled up  in  a  corner  —  an  odd  heap  of  laces,  silks,  and 
furbelows,  but  with  never  a  voice  in  all  the  confusion. 
It  seemed  she  had  fainted. 

Meanwhile  M.  de  Strasbourg  turned  on  the  unfor- 
tunate coachman. 

'  Get  down,  you  rascal,'  he  cried ;  '  you  have  been 
bribed,  you  're  in  the  fellow's  pay.  Get  down !  Not 
a  farthing  will  you  get  from  me,  but  only  a  thrashing 
that  will  make  your  bones  ache  this  month  to 
come.' 

'  Your  honour,'  replied  the  coachman  piteously, 
*  it  was  not  my  fault.  He  offered  to  kill  me  unless 
I  drove  you  here.' 

M.  de  Strasbourg  in  a  rage  flung  back  to  Kelly. 
He  clapped  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  plucked  him 
from  the  carriage  door. 

'So  you  offered  to  kill  him,  did  you?'  he  said, 
'  Perhaps  you  will  make  a  like  offer  to  me.  But  I  '11 
not  wait  for  the  offer.' 

He  unclasped  his  cloak,  drew  his  sword  (happily 
not  his  axe)  and  delivered  his  thrust  with  that  rapid- 
ity it  seemed  all  one  motion.  Mr.  Kelly  jumped  on 
one  side,  and  the  sword  just  gleamed  against  his 
sleeve.  M.  de  Strasbourg  overbalanced  himself  and 
stumbled  a  foot  or  two  forwards.  Kelly  had  whipped 
out  his  sword  by  the  time  that  M.  de  Strasbourg  had 
recovered,  and  a  battle  began  which  was  whimsical 
enough.  A  quiet  narrow  street,  misty  with  the  grey 
morning,  the  carriage  lamps  throwing  here  a  doubt- 


PARSON    KELLY  107 

ful  shadow,  a  masked  headsman  leaping,  swearing, 
thrusting  in  an  extreme  passion,  and,  to  crown  the 
business,  the  coachman  la^menting  on  the  box  tliat 
whichever  honourable  gentleman  was  killed  he  would 
most  surely  go  wanting  his  hire,  he  that  had  a  woeful 
starving  family!  Mr.  Kelly,  indeed,  felt  the  strongest 
inclination  to  laugh,  but  dared  not,  so  hotly  was  he 
pressed.  The  attack,  however,  he  did  not  return,  but 
contented  himself  with  parrying  the  thrusts.  His 
design,  indeed,  reached  at  no  more  than  the  mere 
disarming  of  M.  de  Strasbourg.  M.  de  Strasbourg, 
however,  lost  even  his  last  remnants  of  patience. 

*  Rascal ! '  he  cried.     '  Scullion  !   Grasshopper  ! ' 

Then  he  threw  his  hat  at  Kelly  and  missed,  and  at 
last  flung  his  periwig  full  in  Kelly's  face,  accompany- 
ing the  present  with  a  thrust  home  which  his  oppo- 
nent barely  parried. 

It  was  this  particular  action  which  brought  the 
contest  to  a  grotesque  conclusion  quite  in  keeping 
with  its  beginnings.  For  the  periwig  tumbled  in  the 
mud,  and  the  coachman,  assured  that  he  would  get 
no  stiver  of  his  hire,  scrambled  down  from  his  box, 
rushed  at  a  prize  of  so  many  pounds  in  value,  picked 
it  up  and  took  to  his  heels, 

M.  de  Strasbourg  uttered  a  cry  and  leaped  back- 
wards out  of  reach. 

'  Stop  !  '  he  bawled  to  the  coachman.  The  coach- 
man only  ran  the  quicker,  M.  de  Strasbourg  passed 
his  hand  over  his  shaven  crown  and  looked  at  the 
carriage.  It  was  quite  impossible  to  abduct  a  lady 
without  a  periwig  to  his  head.  He  swore,  he  stamped, 
he  shouted  '  Stop  !  '  once  more,  and  then  dashed  at 
full  speed  past  Kelly  in  pursuit. 


io8  PARSON    KELLY 

Kelly  made  no  eftbrt  to  prevent  him,  but  gave  way 
to  his  inclination  and  laughed.  The  coachman  threw 
a  startled  glance  over  his  shoulder  and,  seeing  that 
M.  de  Strasbourg  pressed  after  him,  quickened  his 
pace ;  behind  him  rushed  a  baldheaded  executioner 
hurling  imprecations.  The  pair  fled,  one  after  the 
other,  to  the  top  of  Bury  Street,  turned  the  corner 
and  disappeared.  Kelly  laughed  till  the  tears  ran 
down  his  cheeks,  and  leaned  against  the  carriage. 

The  touch  of  the  panels  recalled  him  to  the  lady's 
presence.  The  street  was  now  fairly  roused  by  the 
clamour.  Night-capped  heads  peeped  from  the  win- 
dows; an  indignant  burgher  in  a  dressing-gown  even 
threatened  Mr.  Kelly  with  a  blunderbuss ;  and,  as  he 
turned  to  the  door  of  the  carriage,  he  saw  Mrs. 
Barnes  at  a  window  on  the  second  floor  looking  at 
him  with  an  air  of  the  gravest  discontent'. 

'  Take  me  into  shelter,  good  sir,  at  once,  at  once,' 
cried  the  lady  from  out  the  confusion  of  her  laces,  in 
a  feigned  tone  of  the  masquerade. 

'  With  all  my  heart,  madam,'  said  Kelly.  '  This  is 
my  door,  and  my  lodging  is  at  your  disposal.  Only 
the  street  is  fairly  awake,  and  should  you  prefer,  I 
will  most  readily  drive  you  to  your  own  house.' 

The  lady  looked  out  of  the  window.  She  was  still 
masked  so  that  Kelly  could  see  nothing  of  her  face, 
and  she  hesitated  for  a  little,  as  if  in  doubt  what 
answer  she  should  make. 

'You   may   make   yourself  at   ease,   madam,'   said 
Kelly,  believing  that  she  was  not  yet  relieved  of  fear; 
'  you  are  in  perfect  safety.      Our  worthy  friend  had 
to  choose  between  your  ladyship  and  his  periwig,  of 
which   he  has    gone    in  chase.     And,  indeed,   while 


PARSON    KELLY  109 

I  deplore  his  taste,  I  cannot  but  commend  his 
discretion.' 

'  Very  well,'  she  replied  faintly.  '  I  owe  you  great 
thanks  already,  Mr.  — '  she  paused. 

'  Johnson,'  said  Kelly. 

*  Mr.  Johnson,'  she  replied ;  '  and  I  shall  owe  you 
yet  more  if  you  will  drive  me  to  my  home.' 

She  gave  him  the  address  of  a  house  in  Queen's 
Square,  Westminster.  Kelly  mounted  on  the  box, 
took  up  the  reins,  and  drove  off.  He  looked  up,  as 
he  turned  the  carriage  in  the  narrow  street,  towards 
the  second  floor  of  his  lodging.  Mrs.  Barnes  shook 
her  head  at  him  in  a  terrible  concern. 

'  I  shall  write  and  tell  Mr.  Wogan,'  she  bawled  out. 

'Hush,  Mrs.  Barnes,  have  you  no  sense?'  cried 
Kelly,  and  he  thought  that  from  within  the  carriage 
he  heard  a  stifled  peal  of  laughter.  '  Poor  woman,' 
thought  he,  '  't  is  the  hysterics,'  and  he  drove  to 
Queen's  Square,  Westminster,  at  a  gallop. 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHEREIN  THE  CHIVALROUS  MR.  KELLY  BEHAVES 
WITH  DEPLORABLE  FOLLY 

MR.  KELLY  did  not  drive  very  straight  perhaps, 
but  to  be  sure  he  had  the  streets  entirely  to 
himself,  and  he  certainly  hit  upon  Queen's  Square. 
The  house  was  unknown  to  him,  and  he  drove  through 
the  square  before  he  found  it. 

It  made  an  angle  at  the  south  corner,  and  was  con- 
spicuous for  a  solid  family  air,  and  a  fine  new  statue 
of  Queen  Anne.  Level  windows  of  a  distinguished 
respectability  looked  you  over  with  indifference  and 
said,  *  Here  's  a  house  you  '11  take  off  your  hat  to,  if 
you  please.'  'Faith,  but  those  windows  must  have 
shuddered  in  their  sashes  when  they  saw  the  Parson 
driving  Madam  home  at  five  o'clock  of  the  morning 
from  a  masquerade  ball.  A  sleepy  footman  opened 
the  door;  a  no  less  sleepy  maid  yawned  in  the  hall. 
However,  they  both  waked  up  to  some  purpose  when 
Mr.  Kelly  jumped  down  from  the  box,  bade  the  foot- 
man take  the  carriage  round  to  the  stables.,  called  the 
maid  to  attend  upon  Madam,  and  himself  opened  the 
carriage  door.  He  opened  it  quickly  with  a  thought 
that  Madam  might  very  likely  have  removed  her 
mask,  for  he  was  not  so  tipsy  but  that  he  was  curious 


PARSON    KELLY  iii 

to  know  who  it  was  that  he  had  befriended.  Madam, 
however,  had  done  nothing  of  the  kind. 

*  Is  my  lady  ill?  '  asked  the  maid,  hurrying  forward. 
So  Madam  was  a  woman  of  title. 

'  A  trifle  discomposed,  no  doubt,'  answered  Kelly. 

My  lady  said  nothing  whatever.  It  seemed  she 
was  unwilling  to  speak  in  the  feigned  voice  before 
her  maid,  and  in  the  natural  voice  before  Mr.  Kelly. 
She  took  his  arm,  and,  leaning  on  it  somewhat 
heavily,  yet  walked  with  a  firm  enough  step  into  the 
hall,  as  Mr.  Kelly  could  not  but  remark. 

The  maid  threw  open  a  door  on  the  right.  It  gave 
into  a  little  cheery  room  with  a  wainscot  of  polished 
oak,  and  a  fire  blazing  on  the  hearth.  My  lady  did 
not  release  Mr.  Kelly's  arm,  and  they  both  stood  in 
front  of  the  fire,  and  no  doubt  found  the  warmth 
comfortable  enough  after  the  chill  of  the  morning. 
Her  ladyship,  indeed,  went  so  far  as  to  untie  the 
strings  of  her  domino,  and  make  as  though  she  would 
turn  it  back  upon  her  shoulders.  But  with  a  glance 
at  Mr.  Kelly,  she  changed  her  mind,  and  hugged  it 
somewhat  closer  over  her  dress  than  before. 

'Were  you  at  the  masquerade,  Mr.  Johnson?'  she 
asked  in  a  low  voice. 

Mr.  Kelly  took  the  movement  and  the  words 
together,  and  set  them  down  as  mere  coquetry. 
Now,  coquetry  to  Kelly  at  that  time  was  a  challenge, 
and  it  was  contrary  to  his  principles  of  honour  to 
remain  under  such  a  provocation  from  man  or 
woman.     So  he  answered  : 

'  Indeed,  your  ladyship,  I  was,  to  my  eternal  hap- 
piness. I  shall  dream  of  blue  satin  for  a  month  to 
come.' 


112  PARSON    KELLY 

Her  ladyship  hitched  her  domino  a  little  tighter 
still  about  her  neck,  and  quickly  tied  the  strings 
again,  but  made  no  other  reply  to  his  sally.  The 
action,  while  it  inflamed  his  curiosity,  put  him  into 
something  of  a  quandary.  Was  it  but  another  piece 
of  coquetry,  he  asked  himself,  or  did  she  mdeed  wish 
to  hinder  him  from  discovering  who  she  was?  He 
could  answer  neither  question,  but  he  felt  constrained, 
at  all  events,  to  offer  to  take  her  concealment  as  a 
hint  that  he  should  depart.  It  seemed  a  pity,  for  the 
adventure  promised  well. 

'  Your  ladyship,'  he  said,  and  at  that  she  gave  a 
start  and  glanced  at  him,  '  for  so  I  understand  from 
your  maid  I  may  address  you,'  he  added,  '  it  grows 
late,  the  world  is  getting  on  to  its  legs,  and  your  lady- 
ship has  had  an  eventful  night.' 

He  took  a  step  backwards  and  bowed. 

'  No,'  said  she,  in  a  sharp  quick  voice,  and  put  out 
a  hand  to  detain  him.  Then  she  stopped  as  quickly, 
and  drew  in  her  hand  again. 

Mr.  Kelly  had  borne  himself  very  prettily  in  the 
little  affair  with  M.  de  Strasbourg.  Madam,  in  fact, 
was  in  the  typical  attitude  of  woman.  She  knew  it 
was  inconvenient  to  keep  him,  but  for  the  life  of  her 
she  could  not  let  him  go,  wherefore  she  found  a 
woman's  way  out  of  the  trouble.  For  she  staggered 
on  her  legs,  and  fainted  to  all  appearance  clean  away, 
leaving  matters  to  take  their  own  course  and  shift  for 
themselves.  She  fainted,  of  course,  towards  Mr. 
Kelly,  who  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  set  her  in 
an  arm-chair.  The  maid,  who  all  this  while  had  been 
standing  in  the  doorway,  smiled.  'I  will  run  to  her 
ladyship's  dressing-room  for  the  salts,'  she  said,  and 


PARSON    KELLY  113 

so  went  out  of  the  room,  carefully  closing  the  door 
behind  her.  Kelly  kneeled  by  the  lady's  side,  and 
taking  up  her  fan,  sought  to  waft  her  that  way  back 
into  the  world.  She  did  not  stir  so  much  as  a 
muscle,  but  lay  all  huddled  up  in  her  domino  and 
mask.  Mr.  Kelly  leaned  over  her,  and  so  became 
aware  of  a  penetrating  perfume  which  breathed  out 
from  her  dress.     The  perfume  was  bergamot. 

Kelly  dropped  the  fan  and  sat  back  on  his  heel. 
The  maid  had  called  her  '  my  lady,'  and  bergamot 
was  Lady  Oxford's  favourite  perfume.  What  if  it 
was  Lady  Oxford  he  had  unwittingly  rescued  !  The 
possibility  caught  his  breath  away.  If  that  were  only 
true,  he  thought,  why,  he  had  done  her  some  slight 
service,  and  straightway  a  great  rush  of  tenderness 
came  upon  him,  which  went  some  way  to  sober  him. 
In  a  minute,  however,  he  dropped  into  despondency; 
for  Lord  Oxford's  house  was  in  the  northern  part  of 
the  town,  as  he  knew,  though  he  had  never  as  yet 
been  there,  and  neither  the  footman  nor  the  maid 
were  of  her  ladyship's  household.  Yet,  if  by  some 
miracle  the  lady  might  be  Smilinda  !  She  was  of  the 
right  height.  Mr.  Kelly  looked  at  her,  seeking  vainly  to 
trace  out  the  form  hidden  under  the  folds  of  the  domino. 
But  if  it  were  Smilinda,  then  Smilinda  had  swooned. 

Mr.  Kelly  woke  to  this  conclusion  with  a  start  of 
alarm.  He  clapped  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  pulled 
out  his  snuff-box,  opened  it  quickly,  and  held  it  close 
beneath  her  ladyship's  nose.  The  effect  of  the  snuff 
was  purely  magical,  for  before  she  could  have  inhaled 
one  grain  of  it  —  before,  indeed,  Mr.  Kelly's  box  was 
within  a  foot  of  her  face,  up  went  her  hands  to  the 
tie-strings  of  her  mask. 


114  PARSON    KELLY 

So  the  swoon  was  counterfeit. 

*  Madam,'  said  Kelly,  '  you  interpret  my  desires  to 
a  nicety.  It  is  your  face  I  would  see,  but  1  did  not 
dream  of  removing  your  mask.  I  did  but  offer  to 
revive  you  with  a  pinch  of  snuff." 

She  took  the  box  from  his  hand,  but  not  to  inhale 
the  macawba. 

'  It  is  for  your  own  sake,  Mr.  Johnson,  that  I  do  not 
unmask.  'T  is  like  that  I  am  a  fright,  and  did  you  see 
my  face  you  would  take  me  for  a  pale  ghost.' 

'  Madam,'  said  Kelly,  '  I  am  not  afraid  of  ghosts, 
nor  apt  to  take  your  ladyship  for  one  of  those  same 
airy  appearances.  A  ghost !  No,'  he  cried,  survey- 
ing her.  '  An  angel !  It  is  only  the  angels  in  Heaven 
that  wear  blue  satin  petticoats.' 

The  lady  laughed,  and  checked  the  laugh,  aware 
that  a  laugh  betrays  where  a  voice  does  not. 

'  Ghost  or  angel,'  she  said,  *  a  being  of  my  sex  would 
fain  see  herself  before  she  is  seen.  'Tisamirrorl 
seek.'  She  was  still  holding  Mr.  Kelly's  snuff-box. 
It  was  open  and  within  the  lid  a  little  looking-glass  was 
set ;  and  as  she  spoke  she  turned  away  and  bent  over 
it  with  a  motion  as  if  she  was  about  to  lift  her  mask. 

*  Nay,'  said  Kelly  abruptly ;  he  stretched  out  his 
hand  towards  the  snuff-box.  '  The  glass  will  be  un- 
faithful, for  the  snuff  has  tarnished  it.  Madam,  I 
beseech  you,  unloose  that  mask  and  turn  your  face  to 
me  and  consult  a  truer  mirror,  your  servant's  eyes.' 
He  spoke,  perhaps,  with  a  trifle  more  of  agitation 
than  the  occasion  seemed  to  warrant.  Madam  did 
indeed  turn  her  face  to  Mr.  Kelly,  but  it  was  in  sur- 
prise at  his  agitation,  and  the  mask  still  hid  her 
face.     Mr.  Kelly  could  see  no  more  than  a  pair  of 


PARSON    KELLY  115 

eyes  blazing  bright   and    black   through   the   eyelet 
holes. 

'  You  are  gallant,  I  find,  as  well  as  brave,'  she  said, 
*  unless  some  other  cause  prompted  the  words.' 

'  What  cause,  madam?     You  wrong  me.' 

'  Why,'  said  she,  '  you  still  hold  out  your  hand.' 
Mr.  Kelly  drew  it  away  quickly.  '  Ah,'  she  continued, 
'  I  am  right.  There  was  a  reason.  You  would  not 
have  me  examine  your  snuff-box  too  closely.' 

In  that  she  was  right,  for  the  snuff-box  was  at  once 
the  dearest  and  the  most  dangerous  of  Mr.  Kelly's 
possessions.  It  was  a  pretty  toy  in  gold  and  tortoise- 
shell,  with  brilliants  on  the  hinges,  and  had  been  given 
to  Mr.  Kelly  on  a  certain  occasion  when  he  had  been 
presented  to  his  king  at  Avignon.  For  that  reason, 
and  for  another,  he  was  mightily  loth  to  let  it  out  of 
his  possession.  What  that  other  reason  was  Madam 
very  soon  discovered. 

'  It  is  a  dangerous  toy,'  she  said.  *  It  has  perhaps 
a  secret  to  tell?  ' 

'  Madam,  has  not  your  mask?  '  returned  Kelly. 

'  There  is  a  mystery  behind  the  mirror.' 

'  Well,  then,  it 's  mystery  for  mystery.' 

For  all  that  he  spoke  lightly  he  was  in  some  un- 
easiness. For  the  lady  might  not  be  Smilinda,  and 
her  fingers  played  deftly  about  the  setting  of  the 
mirror,  touching  a  stone  here  and  there.  To  be  sure 
she  wore  gloves,  and  was  the  less  likely  therefore  to 
touch  the  spring.  But  give  her  time  enough  —  however, 
at  that  moment  Kelly  heard  the  maid's  footsteps  in  the 
hall.     He  stepped  to  the  door  at  once  and  opened  it. 

'You  have  the  salts?'  he  asked.  'You  have  been 
the  deuce  of  a  time  finding  them.' 


ii6  PARSON    KELLY 

The  maid  stared  at  him. 

'  But  her  ladyship  fainted,'  she  argued. 

'  Well,'  said  he,  '  was  n't  that  why  you  went  for  the 
salts  ? ' 

*  To  be  sure,'  says  she.  '  'Tvvas  an  order  to  go  for 
the  salts.' 

She  pushed  open  the  door.  My  lady  was  still 
fingering  the  box.  The  maid  paid  no  attention  to 
the  box,  but  she  looked  at  my  lady's  mask;  from  the 
mask  she  looked  towards  Kelly  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  which  said  '  Zany '  as  plain  as  writing. 

Kelly  had  no  thoughts  to  spare  for  the  maid. 

'  Madam,'  he  said,  '  here  is  your  maid,  to  whose  at- 
tentions I  may  leave  you.' 

He  advanced,  made  a  bow,  took  up  his  hat,  held 
out  his  hand  for  his  snuff-box. 

'  But  I  cannot  let  you  go,'  she  answered,  '  without 
I  thank  you'  —  all  the  time  she  was  running  her 
fingers  here  and  there  for  the  spring.  Kelly  noticed, 
too,  with  some  anxiety,  that  while  he  had  gone  to 
the  door  she  had  made  use  of  the  occasion  to  strip 
off  her  glove  — '  and  thank  you  fitly,  as  I  should 
have  done  ere  this.  But  the  trouble  I  was  in  has 
made  me  backward.' 

'Nay,  madam,'  said  Kelly  impatiently,  and  taking 
a  step  nearer,  '  there  is  no  need  for  thanks.  No  man 
could  have  done  less.' 

Her  ladyship's  fingers  travelled  faster  in  their  vain 
attempt. 

'But  you  risked  your  life!  '  said  she  in  admiration. 

'  It  is  worth  very  little,'  said  he  with  a  touch  of 
disdain ;   '  and,  madam,  I  keep  you  from  your  bed.' 

The  maid  turned  her  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling,  and 


PARSON    KELLY  117 

then  Madam  by  chance  pressed  on  a  diamond  which 
loosed  a  hidden  spring;  the  glass  in  the  snuff-box 
fievv  down  and  showed  a  painting  of  the  Chevalier  in 
miniature. 

*  Oh  !  '  cried  my  lady  with  a  start  in  which,  per- 
haps, there  was  a  trace  of  affectation.  Then  she 
turned  to  the  maid  and  bade  her  bring  some  wine 
and  glasses.  She  spoke  quickly,  now  forgetting  for 
the  moment  to  disguise  her  voice.  Mr.  Kelly  recog- 
nized it  with  absolute  certainty.  The  voice  was 
Smilinda's. 

The  maid  went  out  of  the  door.  Kelly  looked  at 
the  lady,  and  seeing  that  she  was  seemingly  engrossed 
in  the  contemplation  of  the  little  picture,  stole  after 
the  maid. 

*  Betty !  '  he  called  in  a  whisper. 
'Sir?'  she  asked,  coming  to  a  stop. 

He  took  a  crown  from  his  pocket,  spun  it  in  the 
air,  and  caught  it. 

'The  Margout,'  said  he,  'will  doubtless  be  more 
difficult  to  discover  than  the  salts,'  he  suggested. 

'  It  might  indeed  be  necessary  to  go  down  to  the 
cellar,'  she  replied  readily. 

'  And  that  would  take  time,'  said  Kelly,  handing 
her  the  crown. 

'  It  would  take  an  entire  crown's  worth,'  said  the 
maid,  pocketing  the  coin. 

Kelly  slipped  back  into  the  room. 

The  lady  seemed  not  to  have  noticed  Mr.  Kelly's 
absence,  so  fondly  did  she  study  the  portrait;  but 
none  the  less,  no  sooner  had  he  closed  the  door  than 
she  cried  out,  not  by  any  means  to  him  but  in  a  sort 
of  ecstasy,'/:^  Roil'     Then  she  hid  the  snuff-box 


ii8  PARSON    KELLY 

suddenly  and  glanced  with  a  shudder  round  the 
room.  The  panic  was  altogether  misplaced,  since 
there  could  be  no  other  person  in  the  room  except 
the  owner  of  the  box,  who,  if  her  ladyship  was  guilty 
for  admiring,  was  ten  thousand  times  more  so  for 
possessing  it. 

She  caught  with  her  hand  at  her  heart  when  she 
perceived  Mr.  Kelly,  then  her  eyes  smiled  from  out 
of  her  mask,  as  though  in  the  extremity  of  her  alarm 
she  had  forgotten  who  he  was,  and  so  fell  back  in  her 
chair  with  an  air  of  languor,  breathing  deep  and 
quick. 

'  Upon  my  word,  I  fear,  Mr.  Johnson,'  she  said, 
'  that  if  I  have  escaped  one  danger  by  your  help  I 
have  fallen  into  another.  You  seem  to  me  to  be  a 
man  of  dangerous  company.' 

'  Indeed  I  find  it  so  when  I  am  with  you,  madam, 
since  you  discover  my  secrets  and  show  mc  nothing 
of  your  own,'  replied  Kelly. 

The  maid  it  appears,  had  no  less  perversity  than 
her  mistress,  for  precisely  at  this  moment  she  rapped 
on  the  door,  and  without  waiting  for  any  answer 
sharply  entered  the  room,  bearing  the  wine  and 
glasses  on  a  salver.  There  was  a  distance  of  three 
yards  between  Kelly  and  her  ladyship.  The  maid 
measured  the  distance  with  her  eyes,  and  her  face 
showed  some  disappointment.  Her  ladyship  dis- 
missed her,  filled  both  the  glasses  and  took  one  in  her 
hand.  Mr.  Kelly  drained  the  other,  and  the  bumper 
carried  off  the  remnant  of  his  brains. 

'  You  run  no  danger  from  my  knowing  your  secret, 
Mr.  Johnson,'  said  she,  'for —  ' 

Breaking  off  her  sentence,   she  turned  her  head 


PARSON    KELLY  1 19 

aside,  swiftly  pushed  up  her  mask  and  kissed  the 
portrait  in  the  box,  stooping  her  fragrant  hair  over 
it.  Mr.  Kelly,  speeded  by  the  wine,  was  this  time 
too  quick  for  her  ladyship.  Before  she  could  raise 
her  face  he  had  paid  the  same  compliment  to  her  lips 
as  she  to  his  Majesty.  She  lifted  her  head  with  a 
bewitching  air  of  anger. 

*  Lady  Oxford  !  '  he  cried  out  as  if  in  amazement, 
since  he  had  bottomed  the  mystery  for  now  some 
time.  '  Forgive  me,  madam,  if  my  hasty  loyalty  to 
my  Sovereign  prevented  me  from  recognising  his 
latest  adherent.  The  Cause  must  now  infallibly 
triumph.' 

'  Sir,'  she  began,  looking  up  at  him  with  her  eyes 
melting  from  anger  to  reproach,  '  your  apology  is 
something  graceless.  For  though  my  colour  be 
gone  '  —  it  was  only  the  worse  or  artificial  part  of  her 
matchless  complexion  which  the  mask  had  rubbed 
off — '  you  yet  had  time  to  know  and  respect  a  face 
you  — '  and  then  she  came  suddenly  to  a  stop,  as  she 
untied  the  strings  of  her  domino  and  threw  it  back 
from  her  shoulders.  '  You  blame  me,'  she  said  piti- 
fully. Her  ladyship  was  a  ready  woman,  and  even 
went  more  than  half-way  to  meet  an  attack.  At 
Brampton  Bryan  the  talk  had  been  of  duty  and  the 
charms  of  a  rustic  life ;  but  here  the  dutiful  country 
wife,  violently  disarrayed  in  the  extreme  of  fashion, 
had  been  alone  to  a  masquerade  ball  and  Mr.  Kelly 
might  conceive  himself  tricked.  And  so  'You  blame 
me,'  she  said,  '  you  blame  me  even  as  you  blamed 
me  at  Brampton  Bryan,  and  with  no  more  justice.' 

'  At  Brampton  Bryan  !  '  exclaimed  Kelly  suddenly. 
'  M.  de  Strasbourg  !     M.  de  Strasbourg  was  Scrope.' 


120  PARSON    KELLY 

Her  ladyship  nodded. 

*  And  't  was  he  attacked  jou  —  would  have  carried 
you  off.' 

Her  ladyship  shivered. 

'  And  I  let  him  go.  Curse  me  !  I  let  him  go  even 
as  Nick  did.  But  the  third  time  !  Oh,  only  let  the 
third  time  come.* 

Her  ladyship  shook  her  head  with  the  most  weari- 
ful resignation. 

'  It  will  come  too  late,  that  third  time,'  she  said ; 
'too  late  for  me.  I  have  no  husband  who  can  protect 
me,  and  no  friend  so  kind  as  to  serve  me  in  his  place.' 

*  Nay,  madam,'  cried  Kelly,  instantly  softened  by 
the  lonely  picture  which  her  words  called  up  in  his 
mind.  She  was  transfigured  all  at  once  into  Una, 
Andromeda,  Ariadne,  or  any  other  young  woman  of 
great  beauty  and  virtue  who  has  ever  been  left  deso- 
late to  face  a  wintry  world.  '  Believe  me,  you  have 
one  friend  whose  only  aspiration  is  to  serve  you  with 
his  life-blood.  'Faith,  madam,  had  you  but  shown 
me  your  face  when  first  I  came  to  the  door  of  your 
carriage,  I  would  never  have  let  M.  de  Strasbourg 
run  away  until  I  had  offered  you  his  smoking  heart 
on  the  point  of  my  sword.' 

Her  ladyship  gave  the  Parson  to  understand  that 
she  had  gone  to  the  ball  on  the  King's  service.  Had 
his  brain  been  of  its  customary  sobriety  the  adventure 
w^ould  doubtless  have  surprised  him  more  than  it  did. 
He  might  have  questioned  the  nature  of  the  service 
which  took  her  ladyship  to  the  masquerade.  But 
she  had  sufficient  art  to  tell  him  nothing  and  per- 
suade him  that  she  told  all.  Moreover,  he  had  other 
matters  to  engage  him. 


PARSON    KELLY  121 

There  is  no  need  to  extend  more  particularly  the 
old  story  of  a  young  man's  folly  with  a  woman  of 
Lady  Oxford's  kind.  She  had  sought  to  hide  who 
she  was,  she  said,  because  she  dared  not  trust  herself; 
and  the  fact  that  she  was  not  living  in  her  own  house, 
which  was  being  repaired,  but  in  one  that  she  had 
borrowed,  with  the  servants,  from  a  friend  who  had 
gone  to  the  Bath,  seemed  to  make  her  intention  pos- 
sible. But  Heaven  had  been  against  her.  Mr.  Kelly 
was  readily  beguiled  into  the  sincere  opinion  that  she 
had  fought  against  her  passion,  but  that  her  weakness 
and  his  transcendent  bravery,  of  which  she  would  by 
no  means  allow  him  to  make  light,  had  proved  her 
ruin.  It  was  all  in  a  word  set  down  to  gratitude, 
which  was  a  great  virtue,  she  suggested.  Love, 
indeed,  was  just  the  charge  of  powder  which  would 
have  never  flashed  —  no  never  —  had  not  gratitude 
served  as  a  flint  and  thrown  off  the  spark. 

Well,  Mr.  Kelly  walked  home  in  the  dawning  of  a 
new  day  and  painted  his  thoughts  with  the  colours  of 
the  sky.  For  weeks  thereafter  he  seemed  in  his  folly 
to  tread  on  air;  and  no  doubt  he  had  more  than 
ordinary  warrant  for  his  folly.  He  had  a  fortune 
safely  lodged  with  Mr.  Child,  the  goldsmith ;  his  mis- 
tress was  no  less  fair  than  she  showed  fond ;  and  so 
fond  she  was  that  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  chide 
the  coachman  who  was  discovered  the  next  morning 
drunk  with  drugged  wine  at  a  tavern  near  the  Hay- 
market,  whither  one  of  Scrope's  hirelings  had  lured 
him.  Mr.  Kelly  was  prosperous  in  the  three  great 
games  of  life,  love,  and  politics.  For  he  was  wholly 
trusted  by  the  Bishop,  by  Lord  Oxford  and  the  rest ; 
he  took  his  place  in  the  world  and  went  and  came  from 


122  PARSON    KELLY 

France  with  hanging  matter  in  his  vaHse.  The  valise 
weighed  all  the  lighter  for  the  thought  that  he  was 
now  serving  Lady  Oxford  as  well  as  the  King.  She 
was  at  this  time  always  in  his  dreams.  His  pas- 
sion indeed  was  in  these  days  extreme,  a  devouring 
fire  in  brain  and  marrow.  He  believed  her  a  most 
loyal  conspirator,  and,  of  course,  all  that  he  knew 
came  to  her  ladyship's  ears.  But  his  bliss  in  the 
affection  of  Lady  Oxford  quite  blinded  him  to 
danger,  and  he  seemed  to  himself  to  walk  invisible, 
as  though  he  had  the  secret  of  fernseed. 

For  a  season,  then,  Mr.  Kelly  was  the  happy  fool, 
and  if  the  season  was  short — why,  is  it  ever  long? 
Mr.  Wogan  is  not  indeed  sure  that  the  Parson  has 
got  altogether  out  of  her  ladyship's  debt,  in  spite 
of  what  happened  afterwards.  For  when  the  real 
morning  broke  and  the  true  love  came  to  him, 
troubles  followed  apace  upon  its  coming.  It  is 
something  to  have  been  a  happy  fool,  if  only  for  a 
season  and  though  the  happiness  ended  with  the 
folly. 


CHAPTER  X 

WHAT   CAME   OF   MR.   KELLY'S   WINNINGS   FROM   THE 

SOUTH   SEA 

LUCK  is  a  chameleon,  and  in  November  of  that 
same  year  1720,  thought  fit  to  change  its  com- 
plexion. The  date,  to  be  precise,  was  the  17th  of 
the  month.  Mr.  Wogan  can  determine  on  the  par- 
ticular day,  for  the  reason  that  Mrs.  Barnes  carried 
out  her  threat,  and  sent  him  a  laborious  long  letter 
concerning  the  Parson's  moral  iniquities.  The  letter 
reached  Mr.  Wogan  in  October,  who  was  then 
cleaning  his  ship  at  Morlaix  in  Brittany,  and  what 
with  his  fifteen  months  of  purposeless  cruises,  felt 
himself  as  encrusted  with  idleness  as  his  ship's 
bottom  with  barnacles.  It  was  just  this  eternal  in- 
activity which  no  doubt  induced  him  to  take  the 
serious  view  of  Mrs.  Barnes's  epistle.  'It  is  a  most 
cruel  affair,'  said  he  to  Mr.  Talbot,  who  was  with 
him,  *  and  of  the  last  importance  that  I  should  hurry 
to  London  and  set  it  straight.' 

*  But  you  are  fixed  here,'  said  the  Crow,  for  so 
Talbot  was  commonly  called  from  the  blackness  of 
his  complexion.  *  Can  I  undertake  the  business  for 
you?' 

'  No,'  says  Nick,  shaking    his  head   very  solemn : 
though  maybe  his  eye  twinkled.     Mr.  Wogan  forgets 


124  PARSON    KELLY 

what  point  the  plot  was  at  then,  for  since  the  black 
year,  1688,  there  had  been  but  one  plot,  though  it 
had  changed  and  shifted  shape  like  the  faces  you  see 
in  the  dark  before  you  sleep.  But  he  could  not  hear 
that  anything  immediate  was  intended;  and  it  would 
be,  therefore,  the  most  convenient  occasion  to  refit 
his  ketch  Fortune.  He  gave  orders  to  that  effect, 
travelled  to  Paris,  obtained  from  General  Dillon  a 
month's  leave  to  dispose  of  his  own  affairs,  and  went 
whistling  to  London  like  a  schoolboy  off  on  his 
holidays.  For,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  was  not  greatly 
concerned  at  George  Kelly's  backslidings,  but  on  the 
contrary  was  inclined  to  chuckle  over  them,  and 
trusted  completely  to  his  friend's  discretion. 

He  arrived  in  London  on  November  20,  and  drove 
boldly  to  Kelly's  lodging  in  Bury  Street.  For  the 
Glenshiel  affair  had  completely  blown  over  —  there 
had  never  been  more  than  a  rumour  that  he  was 
there  —  and  as  for  the  Fifteen,  why  Mr.  Wogan  had 
his  pardon  like  the  rest.  That  he  got  for  his  beha- 
viour to  Captain  Montagu  at  Preston  ;  moreover,  who 
could  know  the  boy  Wogan  that  ran  away  from  West- 
minster School,  and  his  task  of  copying  Lord  Claren- 
don's history,  in  Mr.  Hilton,  the  man  of  six  feet  four 
in  his  stockings.      He  found  Kelly's  lodgings  empty. 

'  A  letter  came  for  him  three  days  ago,'  explained 
Mrs.  Barnes,  '  and  he  set  off  almost  on  the  instant  in 
an  agitation  so  great  that  he  did  not  wait  to  pack  his 
valise,  but  had  it  sent  after  him.' 

'  Where  to  ?  ' 

'  I  do  not  know,'  replied  Mrs.  Barnes  with  a  sniff 
of  the  nose  and  a  toss  of  the  head,  '  and  no  doubt  I 
am  a  better  woman  for  not  knowing.' 


PARSON    KELLY  125 

'  No  doubt,'  replied  Wogan  gravely.  *  But,  Mrs. 
Barnes,  who  signed  the  letter?  Where  did  it  come 
from?' 

'  And  how  should  I  know  that?'  she  cried. 
'  Would  I  demean  myself  by  reading  the  letters 
of  a  nasty  trull?  For  she's  no  better  for  all  her 
birth,  and  that 's  not  so  high  neither.' 

'  Ah,'  says  Wogan,  '  I  see  you  don't  know  who 
signed  the  letter.' 

'And  that's  truth,'  said  she,  'but  I  saw  the 
superscription.  As  for  the  letter,  he  hid  it  in  his 
bosom.' 

'  Well,  that 's  as  good  as  showing  the  signature. 
Who  carried  his  valise  after  him? ' 

'  Francis  Vanlear,'  she  said,  '  the  porter  who  plyed 
in  St.  James's  Street  and  Piccadilly  and  lodged  at 
the  Crown  ale-house  in  Germain  Street.' 

Thither  Wogan  sent  for  him,  and  when  he  was 
come  asked  him  whither  he  had  carried  the  valise. 

'  To  Mr.  Gunning's  at  Mussell  Hill,'  Vanlear  an- 
swered, where  he  had  found  a  horse  ready  saddled 
at  the  door  and  '  Mr.  Johnson'  in  a  great  fume  to 
be  off. 

Wogan  gave  the  porter  a  crown  for  his  trouble 
and  went  forthwith  to  Mr.  Gunning's,  whom  he  had 
not  seen  since  the  occasion  of  his  coming  down 
from  Glenshiel.  From  Mr.  Gunning  he  learned 
that  Kelly  had  undoubtedly  taken  the  Aberystwith 
road,  since  he  had  left  the  horse  he  borrowed 
at  Beaconsfield,  and  thither  had  Mr.  Gunning  sent 
to  fetch  it.  Kelly's  destination  was  consequently 
as  clear  to  Wogan  as  the  urgency  of  his  haste, 
and  coming  back  into  London  he  dropped  in  at  the 


126  PARSON    KELLY 

Cocoa  Tree,  where  he  found  the  story  of  Lady 
Oxford  and  Mr.   Kelly  a  familiar  pleasantry. 

He  heard  of  it  again  that  night  at  Will's  coffee- 
house in  Covent  Garden,  and  at  Burton's  in  King 
Street,  where  Mr.  Kelly  was  very  well  known. 
For,  besides  being  close  to  Kelly's  lodging,  it  was 
one  of  the  houses  to  which  his  letters  were  directed 
under  cover.  From  Burton's  Wogan  came  back  to 
Bury  Street,  and,  while  smoking  a  pipe  in  the  parlour 
before  going  to  bed,  he  chanced  to  notice  his  strong- 
box. It  stood  on  the  scrutoire  by  the  side  of  Mr. 
Kelly's  big  Bible,  where  Wogan  had  left  it  eighteen 
months  before.  It  was  the  brother  to  Mr.  Kelly's 
strong-box,  in  every  particular  but  one,  and  that  one  a 
stouter  lock.  Wogan  remembered  that  when  he  had 
placed  the  box  on  the  scrutoire  the  key  was 
attached  to  it  by  a  string.  Now,  however,  he 
noticed  that  the  key  was  gone.  He  was  sufficiently 
curious  to  cross  the  room  and  try  the  lock.  But  the 
box  would  not  open;  it  was  securely  locked.  There 
were  papers  too  within  it,  as  he  found  out  by 
shaking  it.  Kelly,  then,  was  using  the  box  —  but 
for  what  purpose?  His  own  box  served  for  his  few 
political  papers.  Any  other  papers  that  needed  the 
shelter  of  a  strong  box  must  be  love-letters.  Here, 
then,  were  amorous,  not  political  epistles.  Besides, 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  burning  all  those  which  had 
done  their  work,  and  the  rest  which  he  needed  he 
carried  about  in  his  own  dispatch-box. 

'  Now,  I  wonder,'  said  Wogan,  tapping  the  lid,  '  I 
wonder  whether  a  certain  letter,  signed  —  shall  we  say 
Smilinda  .''  —  and  summoning  my  friend  to  Brampton 
Bryan,  is  locked  up  inside  you.'     Wogan's  guess  hit 


PARSON    KELLY  127 

the  truth  even  to  the  signature,  though  he  was 
destined  to  get  Httle  satisfaction  from  this  proof 
of  his  sagacity.  The  letter,  he  later  learned,  lay  in 
box  with  not  a  few  others  in  the  same  handwriting, 
and  they  all  ended  in  the  same  manner  with  a  request: 
'  Burn  this,'  Mr.  Kelly  would  have  been  honester 
had  he  obeyed  it,  but,  like  many  a  man  when  passion 
gets  hold  of  him,  he  could  not  part  with  them.  Faint 
whispers  breathed,  as  it  seemed,  from  Heaven,  and 
caught  and  written  loud  in  my  lady's  hand,  pure 
diamonds  fetched  up  from  the  obscure  mines  of  a 
woman's  heart,  sure  he  treasured  them  up  beyond  all 
jewels,  and  locked  them  up  in  Mr.  Wogan's  despatch- 
box  to  his  own  undoing. 

This  letter  was,  (Wogan  learned  afterwards)  the 
most  laconic  of  them  all,  and  it  was  the  most  moment- 
ous. It  began, '  My  own  Strephon,'  and  then  Strephon 
was  crossed  out  and  again  written  on  the  top,  and 
it  was  signed  '  Smilinda  '  in  a  doubtful  hand ;  as 
though,  at  first,  Brampton  Bryan  had  recalled  to 
her  ladyship  the  beginning  of  their  affections  with 
so  overpowering  a  compulsion  that  she  must  needs 
use  the  names  which  were  associated  with  it,  and 
then  the  dear  woman's  modesty  timidly  crossed  them 
out,  and  in  the  end  love  got  the  upper  hand  and  wrote 
them  in  again.  At  least  that  was  a  small  portion 
of  all  the  great  meanings  which  Kelly  read  in  the 
hesitation  of  her  ladyship's  address.  Between  the 
Strephon  and  the  Smilinda  there  was  but  one  line  — 
'Come;  there  is  a  secret.  I  have  great  need  of  you.* 
But  this  had  been  quite  enough  to  send  Mr.  Kelly 
spurring  out  into  the  November  night  with  such 
speed  that  he  came  to  Oxford  the  next  day,  where 


128  PARSON    KELLY 

he  found  the  snow  lying  very  deep.  The  snow 
troubled  him,  no  doubt,  because  it  delayed  him,  but 
he  took  little  account  of  the  cold  beyond  a  sharp  pang 
or  two  lest  Smilinda  might  have  caught  a  chilblain. 
For  himself  —  well,  Smilinda  had  need  of  him  — 
the  great'  lady  turned  for  help  to  the  Irish  outlaw. 
Was  n't  it  always  so  ?  Her  Majesty  throws  her 
glove  to  the  page,  my  lord  the  King  Cophetua  goes 
clean  daft  for  a  beggar  wench,  and  the  obliging  Cupid 
builds  a  rickety  bridge  whereby  the  despairing  lovers 
leap  into  each  other's  arms. 

Smilinda  needed  him  !  There  was  a  tune  ravished 
from  Heaven !  His  whole  frame  moved  to  it  as  the 
waves  to  the  direction  of  the  moon.  It  sang  in  his 
blood,  his  heart  beat  to  it,  the  hooves  of  his  horse 
drummed  it  out  on  the  road.  Even  the  boughs  of 
the  trees  whispered  the  words  with  a  tender  secrecy 
to  the  wind,  much  as  the  reeds  whispered  that  other 
saying,  ages  ago,  which  the  Queen  in  the  fable  had 
entrusted  to  them.  And,  'faith,  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it,  there  was  little  difference  in  meaning 
between  the  two  remarks.  Smilinda  needed  Mr. 
Kelly!  It  was,  after  all,  as  much  as  to  say  'Mr. 
Kelly  has  ass's  ears.'  He  made  such  haste  that  on 
the  evening  of  the  second  day  after  his  departure 
from  London  he  cantered  up  the  drive  of  the  Manor 
House. 

Lady  Oxford  met  him  in  the  hall,  and  Mr.  Kelly's 
heart  gave  a  great  jump  of  pride  when  he  saw  her 
stately  figure  all  softened  to  an  attitude  of  expecta- 
tion. 

'  I  knew  you  would  come,'  she  said ;  and,  as  Mr. 
Kelly   bent    over    her    hand,    she    whispered,    'My 


PARSON    KELLY 


129 


Strephon,'  for  all  the  world  as  if  her  emotion  choked 
her.  Then  she  raised  her  voice  for  the  servants  to 
hear:  *  My  lord  is  from  home,  Mr.  Johnson,  but  he 
has  commissioned  me  at  once  to  pay  you  his  regrets 
and  to  act  as  his  deputy  in  your  business.' 

Mr.  Kelly  was  all  impatience  to  broach  his  business, 
but  her  ladyship's  solicitude  would  not  allow  him  to 
speak  until  he  had  supped.  She  came  near  to  wait- 
ing upon  him  herself,  and  certainly  plied  him  with 
her  best  wine,  vowing  that  it  was  ill  weather  for  trav- 
ellers, and  that  if  he  kept  his  glass  full  beside  his 
elbow  it  was  a  sure  sign  he  hated  her.  This,  of 
course,  after  the  servants  had  been  dismissed.  Mr, 
Kelly  chided  her  for  the  thought,  and,  with  a  shake 
of  the  finger,  quoted  her  a  text:  '  We  are  bidden  not 
to  look  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red,'  said  he. 

'  And  a  very  good  text,  too,'  says  she ;  '  so,  if  you 
please,  shut  your  eyes  and  drink  it,'  and,  coming 
behind  him,  she  laid  her  cool  hand  upon  his  eyes  and 
forehead.  So  Mr.  Kelly  drank,  and  the  bumper 
floated  his  wits  into  my  lady's  haven. 

'  Now,'  says  my  lady ;  and,  leading  the  way  into 
her  boudoir,  she  sat  herself  down  before  the  fire,  and, 
clasping  her  hands  at  the  back  of  her  head,  smiled  at 
Mr.  Kelly. 

'  Strephon,'  she  murmured  on  a  lilt  of  her  voice, 
and  with  all  the  provocation  that  witchery  could 
devise.  Mr.  Kelly  was  on  his  knees  at  her  side  in  a 
moment.  She  laid  a  white  hand  upon  his  breast,  and, 
gently  holding  him  off": 

'  Tell  me,'  says  she,  '  why  I  sent  for  you.' 

*  Because  my  Smilinda  needed  me,'  he  answered 
with   a   laugh    of    pride.      Her    hand    caressed   his 

9 


I30  PARSON    KELLY 

shoulder.     She  nodded,  bit  her  under  lip  and  smiled 
very  wisely. 

'What  is  the  service  Strephon  can  do?'  cried 
Kelly.  '  Is  it  to  lift  the  world?  Give  me  but  your 
love  and  I  '11  accomplish  that.' 

Smilinda  clapped  her  hands  with  delight,  like  a 
child. 

'  It  is  nothing  so  important,'  said  she.  '  It  is  not 
in  truth  any  service  you  can  do  for  me,  but  rather 
one  that  I  can  do  for  you.' 

Kelly's  face  lost  all  its  light,  and  dropped  to  the 
glummest  disappointment.  He  had  so  nursed  that 
aspiration  of  doing  her  some  great  service.  Through 
the  night,  through  the  day,  it  had  borne  him  com- 
pany. Some  great  service  —  that  was  to  be  the 
bridge  of  Cupid's  building  whereby  they  were  to 
stand  firm-footed  on  equal  ground.  And  now  it  was 
some  service  Lady  Oxford  was  to  do  for  him.  Lady 
Oxford  noticed  the  change ;  it  may  have  been  to 
read  the  thought  which  it  expressed,  and  that  the 
thought  touched  her  to  unwonted  depths.  For  the 
smile  faded  from  her  lips,  her  eyes  became  grave, 
thoughtful,  there  was  a  certain  suspense  in  her  attitude. 

'  Must  the  woman  always  owe,  the  man  always 
pay?'  she  asked,  but  in  a  broken  way,  and  with 
almost  a  repugnance  for  herself.  Indeed,  she  barely 
finished  the  question,  and  then,  with  an  abrupt  laugh, 
crossed  to  the  window,  drew  aside  the  curtains,  and 
gazed  out  upon  the  darkness  and  the  glimmering 
snow. 

*  A  strange,  cold  world,'  she  said  in  an  absent  voice, 
'with  a  strange  white  carpet.'  Mr.  Kelly  in  truth 
had  given  her  a  glimpse  into  a  world  yet  stranger  to 


PARSON    KELLY  131 

her  ladyship  than  that  which  her  eyes  beheld  —  a 
world  that  had  an  odd  white  carpet  too,  though  the 
feet  of  those  who  paced  it  as  often  as  not  were  stained 
—  a  world  of  generous  impulses  and  unselfish  de- 
votions. Into  this  world  Lady  Oxford  was  peering 
with  an  uneasy  curiosity.  Perhaps  for  a  moment 
she  compared  it  with  her  own ;  perhaps  she  was 
caught  by  it  and  admired  it;  but,  if  so,  it  was  with  a 
great  deal  of  discomfort.  For  she  dropped  the  cur- 
tain petulantly  across  the  window,  and,  coming  back 
to  the  fire — well,  what  she  would  have  said  it  is  im- 
possible to  guess,  for  a  gentle  tap  on  the  door  was 
followed  by  a  servant's  entrance  into  the  room.  He 
carried  a  letter  on  a  salver,  and,  advancing  to  Lady 
Oxford,  offered  it  to  her. 

Now,  Mr.  Kelly  was  standing  almost  at  the  centre 
of  the  mantelpiece,  Lady  Oxford  at  one  end ;  and 
they  faced  one  another.  So  the  man  inevitably 
stopped  between  them,  and,  when  he  lifted  up  the 
salver,  it  was  impossible  but  that  the  Parson  should 
observe  the  superscription.  He  recognised  the  hand- 
writing of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu.  Lady  Ox- 
ford recognised  it  too,  for  she  flushed  as  she  picked 
the  letter  up.  But  she  flushed  deeper  as  she  read  it 
through,  and  then  crumpled  it  up  and  flung  it  into 
the  fire  with  an  anger  which  showed  very  clearly  she 
would  have  done  the  like  for  Lady  Mary  were  the 
writer  instead  of  her  letter  within  reach  of  her  vin- 
dictive fingers. 

'A  strange,  incomprehensible  creature  is  Lady 
Mary  Wortley  Montagu,'  said  Lady  Oxford  with  a 
laugh  and  a  glance  at  Mr.  Kelly.  '  The  most  whim- 
sical contradiction.     She  offers  you  a  kindness  with 


132  PARSON    KELLY 

one  hand  and  slaps  you  in  the  face  with  the  other. 
For  instance,  this  letter  here.  'T  was  written  out  of 
pure  kindness.  It  completes  the  friendliest  service, 
yet  it  ends  with  so  rough  a  jest  that  but  for  Strephon's 
sake  I  should  be  much  drawn  to  reject  the  service.*    , 

'  For  my  sake?  '  asked  Kelly. 

*  Why,  to  be  sure,  Lady  Mary  gave  me  a  piece  of 
news  a  week  ago  in  town.  It  was  that  news  which 
made  me  send  for  you,  and  she  writes  now  expressly 
to  confirm  it.  But,  let  my  Strephon  answer  me,'  and 
she  asked  whether  he  had  yet  sent  his  winnings  from 
the  Mississippi  to  be  used  for  the  King's  service. 

Now,  Mr.  Kelly  was,  after  all,  a  human  being.  It 
was  all  very  well  in  the  first  flush  of  prosperity  to 
propose  to  scatter  his  few  thousands,  but  afterwards 
he  had  come  to  see  that  they  would  not  go  so  very 
far.  Besides,  he  had  now  obvious  reasons  for  desir- 
ing to  cut  as  agreeable  a  figure  as  he  could.  At  all 
events  the  money  still  remained  with  Mr.  Child,  the 
goldsmith,  and  so  he  told  her  ladyship,  with  a  little 
remorse. 

'  Then,'  she  cried  in  joy,  '  that  chance  has  come  for 
which  Smilinda  has  been  longing.  My  presents, 
Strephon,  you  have  always  refused,'  which  was  true 
enough ;  indeed,  on  the  other  hand,  she  had  Mr. 
Kelly's  royal  snuff-box  and  a  few  of  his  jewels.  '  But 
now  I  can  make  your  fortune,  and  with  yours  my 
own.  There 's  the  sweetness  of  it,'  she  said,  and 
clasped  her  hands  on  her  heart.    '  Your  fortune,  too  !  ' 

'  My  fortune  you  have  made  already,'  said  he,  with 
other  compliments  proper  to  the  occasion.  But  her 
ladyship  was  in  a  practical  mood. 

'  Listen,'  says  she.    '  I  am  made  acquainted  that  the 


PARSON    KELLY  133 

tide  has  turned.  I  mean,  you  know,  in  the  Straits  of 
Magellan.  The  South-Sea  stock  that  has  been  fall- 
ing  so  long  will  certainly  rise  in  a  week ;  the  Elector 
is  buying  secretly.  Lady  Mary  has  it  from  Mr.  Pope, 
and  he  at  the  first  and  best  hands  from  Mr.  Craggs, 
the  secretary.  Mr.  Craggs  will  insert  my  name  in 
the  next  list  and  your  money  I  shall  send  to  the 
directors  with  my  own.  You  shall  be  rich,  Strephon, 
on  the  level  of  your  merits.' 

Mr.  Kelly  was  very  well  content  with  his  one  specu- 
lation, but  the  evident  joy  with  which  Lady  Oxford 
anticipated  serving  him  was  worth  more  than  his 
thousands. 

'  My  gold  shall  be  in  Smilinda's  coffers  the  morn- 
ing that  I  get  back  to  town,'  he  said. 

'  You  must  go  at  once,'  she  exclaimed,  '  we  must 
lose  no  time.  Stay.  I  will  travel  with  you  to-mor- 
row morning  if  you  will  favour  me  with  your  com- 
pany ' ;  and  so  a  new  flow  of  compliments  carried 
the  South  Sea  out  of  sight.  But  a  minute  or  two 
later  Mr.  Kelly,  chancing  to  look  down  at  the  hearth, 
said,  quite  inconsequently : 

'  We  must  not  forget  to  thank  Lady  Mary.' 
Smilinda  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes,  and 
saw  that  Lady  Mary's  letter  had  tumbled  out  of  the 
fire  and  now  lay,  half  burnt,  but  the  other  half  only 
curled  up  and  scorched.  She  shivered  as  though  she 
was  cold,  and  the  better  to  warm  herself  knelt  down 
on  the  hearth-rug.  Then  she  took  up  the  letter 
(which  Kelly  must  not  see)  and  carelessly  tossed  it 
into  the  fire. 

'  You  know  Lady  Mary,'  she  said.     '  Yes,  you  told 
me,' 


134  PARSON    KELLY 

'  I  do,  indeed,'  said  Kelly,  with  a  smile. 

*  I  could  wish  you  did  not,'  said  her  ladyship  with 
a  frown,  Smilinda  made  it  plain  that  she  was  jealous. 
Kelly  laughed  heartily  at  the  assumption,  which  was 
in  truth  ridiculous  enough. 

'  Who  am  I,'  said  he,  '  that  I  should  attract  Lady 
Mary's  fancy.' 

'  You  are  —  my  Strephon,'  replied  Smilinda,  with 
a  sigh  of  exquisite  tenderness. 

Kelly  argued  the  matter  on  other  grounds.  Smi- 
linda listened  to  them  all. 

*  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  right,'  she  said,  with  a 
meek  resignation.  '  But  I  remember  you  spoke  very 
warmly  of  the  friendship  you  had  for  her,  and  ever 
since  — '  here  she  broke  off  shyly.  '  A  weak  woman's 
empty  fears,'  she  continued, '  but  they  keep  her  awake 
at  nights.    Well,  she  must  even  make  the  best  of  them.' 

Smilinda  lying  awake  at  nights  out  of  jealousy ! 
There  was  a  notion  to  convict  Mr.  Kelly  of  slow 
murder.  He  was  on  his  knees  in  a  moment,  and 
swore  that  for  the  future  on  earth  and  in  Heaven  he 
would  avoid  Lady  Mary's  company  as  though  she 
was  the  devil  in  person.  It  was  a  confused  sort  of 
oath  and  deprived  Mr.  Kelly  for  a  time  of  a  very 
good  friend ;  but  on  the  other  hand  it  undoubtedly 
raised  a  load  from  Lady  Oxford's  anxieties. 

She  left  Brampton  Bryan  the  next  morning  and 
travelled  with  Mr.  Kelly  up  to  London,  where  the 
coach  set  them  down  at  the  King's  Head  in  the 
Strand.  Kelly  went  straight  from  the  King's  Head  to 
the  goldsmith  and  his  money  was  carried  to  Queen's 
Square  that  same  afternoon.  It  would  seem,  however, 
that  Mr.  Pope  had  been  choused,  for  the  market  fell 


PARSON    KELLY  135 

from  little  to  nothing.  But  when  the  Bubble  pres- 
ently burst  into  air,  Smilinda  burst  into  tears,  and 
Mr.  Kelly  was  smitten  to  the  heart  for  her  distress. 

'  I  have  ruined  thee,  my  Strephon,"  she  sobbed. 
She  had  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  the 
tears  trickled  through  her  fingers. 

*  Love  arms  me  against  such  ill-fortunes,'  replied 
Kelly.  '  It  is  only  Smilinda's  tears  that  hurt.  Each 
one  of  them  falls  upon  Strephon's  heart  like  a  drop 
of  molten  lead.' 

*  Ah,  Strephon,'  she  cried.  *  Thou  art  ruined  and 
Smilinda's  hapless  hand  hath  dealt  the  blow.  The 
arrow  came  from  her  quiver,'  she  being  one  of  Dian's 
nymphs,  you  are  to  suppose. 

Then  Mr.  Kelly  fell  to  comparing  himself  to 
Procris  in  the  fable,  who  was  shot  by  her  lover,  and 
said  that  it  was  sweet  to  perish  by  her  inadvertent 
shaft.  It  seems  that  kind  of  love-making  has  now 
gone  out  of  date.  But  that  was  the  humour  of  it  when 
Kelly  and  Wogan  were  young.  Men  and  women,  let 
them  but  fall  in  love,  and  they  were  all  swains  and 
nymphs,  though  they  dabbled  in  the  stocks  and  were 
as  hard-headed  as  before  and  afterwards. 

'  That  odious  Lady  Mary,'  exclaimed  Smilinda. 
'  She  was  born  to  be  my  bane  and  curse.  'T  was  her 
counsel  that  ruined  my  Strephon.  My  Strephon  has 
kept  his  oath  ?  ' 

Her  Strephon  had,  but  on  the  other  hand,  Mr. 
Wogan  had  sworn  no  oath,  and  would  not  have  kept 
it  if  he  had  done  so.  He  paid  a  visit  to  Lady  Mary 
soon  after  Kelly's  return  from  Brampton  Bryan.  She 
asked  him  his  news  and  gave  him  a  budget  of  gossip 
in  return. 


136  PARSON    KELLY 

*  And  Lady  Oxford  has  sold  her  diamonds !  '  she 
ended. 

Wogan  asked  how  that  came  about,  and  she 
answered  : 

*  Lady  Oxford  was  here  at  the  bassette  table  three 
weeks  since.  Her  stakes  were  ever  inordinately  high, 
and  she  lost  to  me  all  night.  She  drew  a  queen  when 
she  should  have  chose  the  knave,  the  knave  was 
Sonica.  "  There  go  my  diamonds,"  she  said,  and 
vowing  she  would  punt  no  more,  went  home  in  her 
chair.  I  could  not  see  her  or  hear  of  her  for  a  little. 
I  guessed  that  she  had  run  away  into  the  country  until 
she  could  wheedle  enough  money  to  pay  me  out  of 
the  dotard  husband.  So  at  a  venture  I  wrote  a  polite 
letter  to  her,  hoping  that  the  country  air  would  restore 
her  credit.  Well,  here  she  is  back  in  London  and 
her  losses  paid.     That  means  selling  her  diamonds.' 

Wogan  laughed  over  Lady  Oxford's  straits  and 
came  home  to  the  lodging  in  Bury  Street.  Wogan's 
time  was  getting  short  and  he  must  return  to  Mor- 
laix.  But,  as  has  been  said,  he  left  Brittany  in  a 
hurry  with  very  little  money  in  his  pocket,  and  what 
was  left  at  his  journey's  end  he  had  since  spent  in 
London.     So  he  said  to  the  Parson : 

'  George,  my  friend,  I  must  dip  into  your  winnings 
after  all.  For  here  am  I  with  a  couple  of  crowns,'  he 
took  them  out  and  laid  them  on  the  table.  George 
flushed  crimson. 

'  Nick,'  said  he,  '  you  have  two  crowns  more  than 
I  have.' 

Wogan  turned  away  to  the  window  and  looked  out 
into  the  street,  bethinking  him  of  what  Lady  Mary 
had  told  him. 


PARSON   KELLY  137 

*  Sure,  Nick,  it 's  the  truth,'  Kelly  pleaded,  entirely- 
miscomprehending  VVogan's  action.  '  I  drew  the 
money  out  of  the  Mississippi  and  sunk  it  in  the 
South  Sea.  It 's  all  gone.  I  have  not  two  penny 
pieces  to  rub  together  until  this  day  week,  when  my 
pension  is  paid.  Nick,  you  '11  believe  that.  Why, 
Nick,  you  would  ha'  been  welcome  to  all  that  I  had. 
But  you  know  that.     Sure  you  know  it.' 

Wogan  had  no  such  mean  thought  as  Kelly  in  his 
fluster  attributed  to  him.    He  turned  back  to  the  table. 

'  So  you  are  as  poor  as  an  Irish  church  mouse 
again,  are  you?'  he  said  with  a  smile.  'Well,  here's 
two  crowns  —  one  for  me,  one  for  you.' 

He  pocketed  one  coin  and  pushed  the  other  over 
to  the  Parson.  The  Parson  took  it  up  and  turned  it 
over  blinking  his  eyes.  For  a  moment  there  was  an 
awkward  sort  of  silence.  Wogan  laughed ;  the  Par- 
son blew  his  nose. 

'  I  hear,'  said  Wogan,  '  that  Lady  Oxford  has  lost 
her  diamonds.' 

Kelly  looked  up  in  perplexity. 

'  Lost  her  diamonds  !  '  said  he.  '  Why,  she  wore 
them  last  night !  ' 

'  I  thought  the  rumour  was  untrue,'  said  Wogan. 

Mr.  Kelly  slipped  his  crown  into  his  pocket. 
There  was  no  more  said  about  the  matter  between 
them,  though  perhaps  they  clasped  hands  at  parting 
with  a  trifle  more  than  their  ordinary  heartiness. 

Mr.  Wogan,  however,  told  Lady  Mary  of  the  Par- 
son's loss,  and  she  was  at  no  pains  to  discover  the 
explanation.  Lady  Oxford  had  paid  Lady  Mary 
with  the  Parson's  guineas.  They  had  never  been  in 
the  South  Sea  Bubble. 


13S  PARSON    KELLY 

'  I  should  like  to  send  the  money  I  won  back  to 
Mr.  Kelly,'  said  Lady  Mary. 

'That 's  plainly  impossible,' returned  Wogan,  and 
to  this  Lady  Mary  perforce  agreed.  *  Olet^  the  Latin- 
learned  lady  said,  and  Wogan  remarked,  *  Certainly,' 
so  she  put  the  money  aside,  thinking  that  some  day 
she  might  employ  it  on  Mr.  Kelly's  behalf.  That 
night  Wogan  borrowed  his  travelling  money  from 
Mr.  Carte,  the  historian,  whom  he  met  at  the  Cocoa 
Tree,  and  so  set  out  the  next  morning  for  Brittany. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  PARSON   DEPARTS  FROM    SMILINDA  AND  LEARNS 
A  NUMBER  OF  UNPALATABLE  TRUTHS 

MR.  WOGAN  then  returned  to  Morlaix,  and, 
finding  his  ketch  by  this  time  cleaned  and 
refitted,  and  two  others  (the  Revolution,  a  big  ship 
of  40  guns,  under  Morgan,  which  was  afterwards 
seized  by  Commodore  Scot  at  Genoa,  and  the  Lady 
Mary,  a  smaller  vessel  of  14  guns,  commanded  by 
Captain  Patrick  Campbell)  at  anchor  in  the  harbour, 
he  set  sail  for  the  Downs.  There  they  picked  up 
four  thousand  small  arms  and  a  couple  of  hundred 
kintals  of  cannon-powder,  for  traffic,  it  was  alleged, 
on  the  coasts  of  Brazil  and  Madagascar.  But  the 
arms  and  ammunition  travelled  no  further  than  Bilboa, 
where  they  were  stored  in  the  country  house  of 
Mr.  Brown,  an  Irish  merchant  of  that  part,  against 
the  next  expedition  to  England.  At  Bilboa  the 
three  ships  parted,  and  Mr.  VVogan,  taking  in  upon 
freight  such  goods  as  he  could  get,  sailed  to  Genoa, 
and  lay  there  behind  the  Mole. 

Nor  was  the  Parson  to  tarry  long  behind  him  in 
London ;  for  less  than  a  fortnight  after  Wogan's  de- 
parture, he  was  sent  to  carry  to  Rome,  for  the  Che- 
valier's approval,  a  scheme    of   a  lottery  for  raising 


140  PARSON    KELLY 

a  quarter  of  a  million  pounds,  which  Mr.  Christopher 
Layer  (later  hanged)  most  ingeniously  imagined. 
With  the  scheme  he  carried  some  silk  stockings 
as  a  present  for  the  Chevalier  and  his  spouse.  This 
was  none  of  the  Bishop  of  Rochester's  work,  who 
knew  nothing  of  Mr.  Layer,  and  of  what  was  later 
plotted  by  bold  and  impatient  spirits.  The  Parson 
had  sad  work  parting  with  Smilinda,  but  made  light 
of  the  separation  to  save  the  lady  from  distress,  and 
she  had  happily  broken  a  bank  at  pharo  that  same 
night,  which  withheld  her  from  entirely  breaking 
her  heart.  Still,  it  was  as  affecting  an  affair  as  one 
could  wish   for. 

The  Parson  received  certain  orders  of  Atterbury's 
as  to  business  with  General  Dillon,  the  Chevalier's 
manager  in  Paris,  just  before  he  was  to  start;  and, 
coming  from  the  Deanery  at  Westminster  where  the 
Bishop  resided,  he  walked  at  once  through  Petty 
France  to  Queen's  Square.  Lady  Oxford's  house 
was  all  in  a  blaze  of  light  with  figures  moving  to  and 
fro  upon  the  blinds  of  the  windows.  '  Mr.  Johnson  * 
was  announced,  but  for  some  little  while  could  not 
get  a  private  word  with  her  ladyship,  and  so  stood 
of  one  side,  taking  his  fill  of  that  perfumed  world 
of  fans  and  hoops,  of  sparkling  eyes  and  patches  and 
false  hearts  wherein  Lady  Oxford  so  fitly  moved. 
Many  of  the  faces  which  flitted  before  his  eyes 
were  strange  to  him,  but  one  he  remarked  in  particular 
—  a  strong,  square  sort  of  face  set  on  the  top  of  an 
elegant  figure  that  wore  the  uniform  of  the  King's 
Guards.  Mr.  Kelly  had  seen  that  face  under  the 
oil-lamp  of  a  portico  in  Ryder  Street  on  the  occasion 
when    he    and     Nicholas    Wogan    set    out    on    their 


PARSON    KELLY  141 

first  journey  to  Brampton  Bryan,  and  the  officer 
who  owned  the  face  was  now  a  certain  Colonel 
Montague. 

Kelly  remarked  him  because  he  was  playing  at 
the  same  table  with  her  ladyship,  and  losing  his 
money  to  her  with  all  the  grace  in  the  world.  At 
last  Lady  Oxford  rose,  and,  coming  towards  him : 

*  Well?  '  she  murmured,  '  my  Strephon  is  pale.' 

*  I  leave  for  Rome  to-morrow  morning,'  he  re- 
turned in  a  whisper.  At  that  her  hand  went  up  to 
her  heart,  and  she  caught  her  breath. 

'Wait,'  said  she,  and  went  back  to  her  cards.  As 
the  guests  were  departing  some  two  hours  later,  she 
called  to  Kelly  openly. 

'  Mr.  Johnson  leaves  for  Paris  to-morrow  morning, 
and  has  the  great  kindness  to  carry  over  some  of 
my  brocades,  which  indeed  need  much  better  re- 
pairing than  they  can  get  in   London.' 

It  made  an  excuse  for  Mr.  Johnson  to  stay,  but 
none  the  less  provoked  a  smile  here  and  there ;  and 
Colonel  Montague,  deliberately  coming  to  a  stop 
a  few  paces  from  Kelly,  took  careful  stock  of  him. 
The  Colonel  did  not  say  a  word,  but  just  looked  him 
over.  Mr.  Kelly  was  tickled  by  the  man's  impudence, 
and  turned  slowly  round  on  his  heels  to  give  him  an 
opportunity  of  admiring  his  back.  Then  he  faced 
him  again.  The  Colonel  gravely  bowed  his  thanks 
for  Mr,  Kelly's  politeness,  Mr.  Kelly  as  gravely 
returned  the  bow,  and  the  Colonel  stalked  out  of  the 
door.  It  was  in  this  way  that  Mr.  Kelly  and  the 
Colonel  first  met. 

But  the  moment  Smilinda  and  Strephon  were  left 
alone ! 


142  PARSON    KELLY 

'  Oh,'  wailed  Smilinda,  and  her  arms  went  round 
Strephon's  neck.  '  Heureiise  en  Jeu,  malheurense  en 
amour.  O  fatal  cards,  would  that  I  had  lost  this 
dross ! '  cries  she,  with  her  eyes  on  the  glittering 
heap  of  guineas  and  doubloons  strewed  about  the 
table.  '  Oh,  Strephon,  thou  wilt  forget  me  in  an- 
other's arms.      I  dread  the  French  syrens.' 

And  then  Mr.  Kelly  to  the  same  tune: 

'  Never  will  I  forget  Smilinda.  If  I  come  back 
with  the  King,  and  he  makes  me  a  Bishop,  with  a 
pastoral  crook,  thy  Strephon  will  still  be  true.' 

Whereat  the  lady  laughed,  though  Kelly  was  jest- 
ing with  a  heavy  heart,  and  vowed  that  Lady  Mary 
would  write  a  ballad  on  '  Strephon,  or  the  Faithful 
Bishop.'  Then  she  fell  into  a  story  of  lovely  Mrs. 
Tusher,  the  Bishop  of  Ealing's  wife,  who  was  certainly 
more  fair  than  faithful.  Next  she  wept  again,  and  so 
yawned,  and  gave  him  her  portrait  in  miniature. 

'  You  will  not  part  with  it  —  never  —  never/  she 
implored. 

The  portrait  was  beautifully  set  with  diamonds. 

*  It  shall  be  buried  with  me,'  said  Kelly,  and  so 
Lady  Oxford  let  him  go,  but  called  him  back  again 
when  he  was  through  the  door  to  make  him  promise 
again  that  he  would  not  part  with  her  portrait.  Mr. 
Kelly  wondered  a  little  at  her  insistence,  but  set  it 
down  to  the  strength  of  her  affection.  So  he  de- 
parted from  the  cave  of  the  enchantress  with  many 
vows  of  mutual  constancy  and  went  to  Rome,  and 
from  Rome  he  came  back  to  Genoa,  where  he  fell  in 
with  Nicholas  Wogan. 

Mr.  Wogan  remembers  very  well  one  night  on 
which  the  pair   of  them,  after  cracking  a  bottle  ia 


PARSON    KELLY  143 

Grimble's  tavern,  came  down  to  the  water-gate  and 
were  rowed  on  board  of  Wogan's  ketch.  This  was  in 
the  spring  of  the  year  1721,  some  four  or  five  months 
since  the  Parson  had  left  England,  and  VVogan 
thought  it  altogether  a  very  suitable  occasion  for 
what  he  had  to  say.  He  took  the  Parson  down  into 
his  cabin,  and  there,  while  the  lamp  flecked  the  ma- 
hogany panels  with  light  and  shade,  and  the  water 
tinkled  against  the  ship's  planks  as  it  swung  with  the 
tide,  he  told  him  all  that  he  had  surmised  of  Lady 
Oxford's  character,  and  how  Lady  Mary  had  corrob- 
orated his  surmises.  At  the  first  Mr.  Kelly  would 
hear  nothing  of  his  arguments. 

'  It  is  pure  treason,'  said  he.  *  From  any  other 
man  but  you,  Nick,  I  would  not  have  listened  to 
more  than  a  word,  and  that  word  I  would  have  made 
him  eat.  But  I  take  it  ill  even  from  you.  Why  do 
you  tell  me  this  now?  Why  did  you  not  tell  it  me 
in  London,  when  I  could  have  given  her  ladyship  a 
chance  of  answering  the  slander?' 

*  Why,'  replied  Wogan,  '  because  I  know  very  well 
the  answer  she  would  have  made  to  you  —  a  few 
words  of  no  account  whatever,  and  her  soft  arms 
about  your  neck,  and  you  'd  have  been  convinced. 
But  now,  when  you  have  not  seen  her  for  so  long, 
there  's  a  chance  you  may  come  to  your  senses.  Did 
you  never  wonder  what  brought  Scrope  to  Brampton 
Bryan?' 

*  No  need  for  wonder  since  she  told  me.' 

'She  told  you,  did  she?  Well,  I'm  telling  you 
now,  and  do  you  sit  there  until  I  have  told  you,  for 
Mr.  Scrope's  history  you  are  going  to  hear.  Bah, 
leave  that  bodkin  of  a  sword  alone.     If  you  draw  it, 


144  PARSON    KELLY 

upon  my  soul  I  '11  knock  you  down  and  kneel  on 
your  chest.  Mr.  Scrope  went  before  you  in  her 
ladyship's  afifections.' 

Here  Mr.  Kelly  flinched  as  though  he  had  been 
struck,  and  thereafter  sat  with  a  white  stern  face  as 
though  he  would  not  condescend  to  answer  the  insin- 
uation. '  Sure  he  was  a  gentleman  —  out  of  Leices- 
tershire, and  of  some  fortune,  which  fortune  Lady 
Oxford  spent  for  him.  He  was  besides  a  sad,  perti- 
nacious fellow,  and  nothing  would  content  him  but 
she  must  elope  with  him  from  her  old  husband,  and 
make  for  themselves  a  Paradise  on  the  Rhine.  It 
appears  that  he  talked  all  the  old  nonsense — they 
were  man  and  wife  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  the  rest 
of  it.  Her  ladyship  was  put  to  it  for  shifts  and 
excuses,  and  at  the  last,  what  with  his  money  being 
almost  spent,  and  his  suit  more  pressing,  she  fled  into 
the  country  where  we  met  her.  Scrope  was  no  better 
than  a  kitten  before  its  eyes  are  opened,  and,  getting 
together  what  was  left  of  his  fortune,  followed  her 
with  a  chaise,  meaning  to  carry  her  ofl"  there  and 
then.  However,  he  found  us  there,  and  I  take  it  that 
opened  his  eyes.  And  I  would  have  you  beware  of 
Mr.  Scrope,  George.  A  kitten  becomes  a  cat,  and  a 
cat  has  claws.  It  is  Lady  Mary's  thought  that  you 
have  not  heard  the  last  of  him,  for  his  conscience 
hath  made  him  a  kind  of  gentleman  spy  on  the 
honest  party.' 

George,  who  in  spite  of  himself  could  not  but  see 
how  exactly  Wogan's  account  fitted  in  with  and 
explained  Scrope's  attempt  after  the  masquerade, 
caught  at  Lady  Mary's  name  with  an  eager  relief. 

'  Ah,   it  was  she   gave   you  this  flimsy  story,'  he 


PARSON    KELLY  14$ 

cried,  leaning  forward  over  the  table.  *  There 's 
more  malice  in  it  than  truth,  Nick.  The  pair  of  them 
have  been  at  loggerheads  this  long  while.  Lady- 
Mary  never  could  suffer  a  woman  who  can  hold  her 
own  against  her.  Why,  Nick,  you  have  been  gulled/ 
and  he  lit  his  pipe,  which  he  had  let  go  out. 

'  Oh,  and  have  I  ?  Well,  at  all  events,  I  have  not 
stripped  myself  of  every  penny  in  order  to  pay  Lady 
Oxford's  losses  at  cards.  Scrope  is  not  the  only 
man  whom  her  ladyship  has  sucked  dry.' 

*  What  do  you  mean?  '  cried  Kelly,  letting  his  pipe 
slip  out  of  his  fingers  and  break  on  the  floor.  Wogan 
told  him  of  his  visit  to  Lady  Mary,  and  the  story 
was  so  circumstantial,  the  dates  of  the  loss  at  cards 
and  the  payment  so  fitted  with  Lady  Oxford's  mes- 
sage to  Kelly  and  her  proposal  as  to  the  placing 
of  his  fortune,  that  it  could  not  but  give  him 
pause. 

'  It  is  not  true,'  was  all  he  could  find  to  say,  and 
'  I  '11  not  believe  it,'  and  so  fell  to  silence. 

*  You  '11  be  wanting  another  pipe,'  said  Wogan. 
He  fetched  one  from  a  cupboard  and  filled  it.  The 
two  men  smoked  for  a  while  in  silence.  Then  Kelly 
burst  out  of  a  sudden  : 

*  Nick,  the  fool  that  I  was  ever  to  preach  that  ser- 
mon in  Dublin,'  and  stopped,  Wogan  knew  well 
enough  what  the  Parson  meant.  His  thoughts  had 
gone  back  to  the  little  parsonage,  and  the  rambling 
cure  of  half  a  dozen  parishes,  and  the  quiet  library, 
and  evenings  by  the  inn-fire,  where  he  would  tell  his 
little  trivial  stories  of  the  day's  doings.  It  was  always 
that  dream  he  would  play  with  and  fondle  when  the 
world  went  wrong  with  him,  though  to  be  sure,  could 

10 


146  PARSON    KELLY 

the  dream  have  come  true,  he  would  have  been  the 
unhappiest  man  that  ever  breathed  Irish  air. 

*  Shall  we  go  on  deck?  '  Wogan  proposed. 

It  was  a  fine  clear  night,  but  there  was  no  moon. 
The  riding-lights  of  ships  at  anchor  were  dotted  about 
the  harbour,  the  stars  blazed  in  a  rich  sky;  the 
water  rippled  black  and  seemed  to  flash  sparks  where 
the  lights  struck  it;  outside  the  harbour  the  Medi- 
terranean stretched  away  smooth  as  a  slab  of  marble. 
Kelly  stood  in  the  chains  while  Wogan  paced  up  and 
down  the  deck.  The  Parson  was  in  for  his  black 
hour,  and  silent  companionship  is  the  only  alleviation 
for  the  trouble.  After  a  time  he  came  towards 
Wogan  and  caught  him  by  the  arm,  but  so  tight  that 
Wogan  could  feel  his  friend's  finger-nails  through  the 
thick  sleeves  of  his  coat. 

'  I  '11  not  believe  it,'  Kelly  argued ;  but  it  was 
against  himself  he  was  arguing  now,  as  Wogan  per- 
ceived, and  had  the   discretion  to  hold   his  tongue. 

*  'Faith,'  he  continued,  *  she  came  into  my  life  like  a 
ghnt  of  the  sun  into  a  musty  dark  room,'  and  then 
he  suddenly  put  his  hand  into  his  bosom  and  drew 
out  something  at  which  he  looked  for  a  moment. 
He  laughed  bitterly  and  swung  his  arm  back.  Before, 
however,  he  could  throw  that  something  into  the  sea 
Wogan  caught  his  hand. 

*  Sure,'  said  he,  '  I  saw  a  sparkle  of  diamonds.' 
Kelly  opened  his  hand  and  showed  a  miniature. 

'  Lady  Oxford's  diamonds,'  he   answered  bitterly, 

*  which  she  did  not  sell,  but  gave  out  of  a  loving, 
generous  heart' 

'  George,  you  're  moon-struck,'  said  Wogan. 
'  Diamonds,   after  all,  are   always  diamonds.' 


PARSON   KELLY  147 

'True,'  said  Kelly,  '  and  I  promised  never  to  part 
with  them,'  he  sneered.  He  put  the  miniature  back  in 
his  pocket,  and  then  dropping  his  arm  to  his  side  said, 

'  Put  me  ashore,  Nick.  I  will  see  you  to-morrow. 
I  am  very  tired.' 

But  in  the  morning  he  was  gone,  and  a  few  days 
later  Nick,  who  was  not  spared  certain  prickings  of 
conscience  for  the  hand  he  had  taken  in  bringing 
about  the  Parson's  misfortunes  (he  had  just  now,  by 
hindering  him  from  throwing  away  the  miniature, 
taken  more  of  a  hand  than  he  guessed),  sailed  out 
from  Genoa. 

The  rest  of  that  year  '21  was  a  busy  time  for  all 
engaged  in  forwarding  the  Great  Affair.  England 
itself  seemed  ripe  for  the  attempt,  and  it  was  finally 
determined  to  hazard  it  in  the  spring  of  the  next 
year,  when  the  Elector  would  be  in  Hanover.  The 
new  plan  was  that  the  exiled  Duke  of  Ormond, 
whom  the  soldiers  were  thought  to  love,  should  sail 
from  Spain  with  the  Earl  Marischal,  Morgan,  and 
Halstead,  commanding  some  ragged  regiments  of 
Mr.  Wogan's  countrymen.  The  Duke  was  to  land 
in  the  west,  the  King  was  to  be  at  Antwerp  ready  to 
come  over,  and  the  young  Prince  Charles  of  Wales, 
who  would  then  be  not  quite  two  years  old,  was 
to  be  carried  to  the  Highlands.  A  mob  was  to  be 
in  readiness  in  town,  with  arms  secretly  buried;  the 
soldiers  were  expected  to  declare  for  High  Church 
and  Ormond ;  and  in  a  word  the  *  honest  party '  was 
to  secure  its  interest  on  its  own  bottom,  without 
foreign  help,  which  the  English  people  has  never 
loved.  The  rich  lords,  but  not  Bishop  Atterbury, 
knew  of  the  beginning  of  this  scheme,  but  abandoned 


148  PARSON    KELLY 

it.  They  did  not  know,  or  only  Lords  North  and 
Grey  knew,  that  the  scheme  lived  on  without  them. 

Mr.  Kelly  therefore  had  his  hands  full,  and  it  was 
very  well  for  him  that  it  was  so.  There  were  things 
at  stake  of  more  moment  than  his  love-affairs,  as  he 
was  the  first  to  recognise.  Yet,  even  so,  he  had  time 
enough,  in  the  saddle  and  on  the  sea,  to  plumb  the 
black  depths  of  his  chagrin  and  to  toss  to  and  fro 
that  shuttlecock  of  a  question,  whether  he  should 
accuse  her  ladyship  for  her  trickeries  or  himself  for 
misdoubting  her.  However,  he  got  a  complete  an- 
swer to  that  question  before  the  year  was  out.  It 
was  his  habit  now,  whenever  he  was  in  London,  to 
skulk  out  of  sight  and  knowledge  of  Lady  Oxford,  to 
avoid  theatres,  routs,  drums,  and  all  places  where  she 
might  be  met,  and  Mr.  Carte  the  historian  took  his 
place  when  it  was  necessary  to  visit  Lord  Oxford  in 
the  country.  Mr.  Carte  had  a  ready  pretence,  for 
Lord  Oxford  kept  a  great  store  of  old  manuscripts 
concerning  the  history  of  the  country,  and  these  beau- 
ties, it  is  to  be  feared,  came  somewhat  between  Mr. 
Carte  and  his  business,  just  as  her  ladyship's  eyes  had 
come  between  Mr.  Kelly's  and  his.  Accordingly  the 
Parson  saw  little  of  her  ladyship  and  heard  less,  since 
his  friends  avoided  all  mention  of  her  and  he  himself 
asked  no  questions. 

'  Saw  little,'  and  the  phrase  is  intended.  For  often 
enough  of  an  evening  his  misery  would  fetch  him  out 
of  the  coffee  houses  and  lead  him  like  a  man  blind- 
fold to  where  her  ladyship  was  accustomed  to  visit. 
There  he  would  stand  in  the  darkness  of  the  street 
until  the  door  opened  and  Lady  Oxford,  all  smiles 
and  hooped  petticoats,  would  trip  gaily  out  to  her 


PARSON    KELLY  149 

chair.  But  very  likely  habit  —  the  habit  of  her  con- 
versation and  appearance  —  had  as  much  to  do  with 
this  particular  folly  as  any  despairing  passion.  How 
many  lovers  the  wide  world  over  fancy  they  arc  be- 
moaning their  broken  hearts,  when  they  are  only 
deploring  their  broken  habits !  Well,  Mr.  Kelly,  at 
all  events,  took  the  matter  an  grmid  scricnx,  and  so 
one  night  saw  her  ladyship  come  out  from  the  porch 
of  Drury  Lane  theatre  in  company  with  Colonel 
Montague. 

There  is  one  unprofitable  piece  of  knowledge  which 
a  man  acquires  who  has  ever  had  a  woman  make  love 
to  him ;  he  knows  when  that  woman  is  making  love 
to  someone  else.  Lady  Oxford's  modest  droop  of 
the  head  when  the  Colonel  spoke,  her  shy  sidelong 
smile  at  him,  her  red  lips  a  trifle  parted  as  though 
his  mere  presence  held  her  in  a  pleased  suspense  — 
all  these  tokens  were  familiar  to  Mr.  Kelly  as  his 
daily  bread,  and  he  went  home  eating  his  own  heart, 
and  nursing  a  quite  unjustifiable  resentment  against 
Nicholas  Wogan  for  that  he  ever  saved  the  Colonel's 
life.  It  did  not  take  Kelly  long  to  discover  that  his 
suspicions  were  correct.  A  few  questions  to  his 
friends,  who  for  his  sake  had  kept  silence,  and  the 
truth  was  out.  Lady  Oxford's  constancy  had  lasted 
precisely  seven  weeks  before  the  Whig  colonel  had 
stepped  into  the  Jacobite  parson's  shoes.  Mr.  Kelly 
put  his  heart  beneath  his  heel  and  now  stamped  her 
image  out  of  it.  Then  he  went  upon  his  way,  and 
the  King's  business  took  him  to  Avignon. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE   PARSON   MEETS  SCROPE  FOR   THE  THIRD   TIME, 
AND   WHAT   CAME   OF  THE   MEETING 

IT  was  early  in  the  year  1722  when  Mr.  Kelly 
came  to  la  villc  sojinantc,  and  took  a  lodging  at 
L'Auberge  des  Papes  in  the  Rue  des  Trois  Faucons. 
He  brought  with  him  a  sum  of  5,000/.  collected  in 
England,  and  this  sum  he  was  to  hand  over  to  a  mes- 
senger from  the  Duke  of  Ormond,  who  was  then  at 
Corunna  in  Spain,  and,  what  with  his  disbursements 
in  the  purchase  of  arms,  and  the  support  of  Irish 
troops,  was  hard  put  to  it  for  money. 

It  was  therefore  of  the  last  importance  that  this 
sum  should  come  safe  to  Corunna,  and  so  extraordi- 
nary precautions  were  taken  to  ensure  that  result. 
The  Parson,  since  he  did  not  know  who  the  messen- 
ger might  be,  was  to  wait  every  morning  between  the 
hours  of  nine  and  ten  on  the  first  bench  to  the  left  of 
the  Porte  du  Rhone  in  the  boulevard  outside  the  city 
walls,  until  a  man  should  ask  him  if  he  had  any  com- 
fortable greeting  for  Aunt  Anne,  that  being  the  cant 
name  for  the  Duke.  This  man  was  thereafter  to 
prove  to  Mr.  Kelly's  satisfaction  that  he  was  indeed 
the  messenger  expected. 

Now,  the  messenger  was  delayed  in  his  journey, 
and  so  for  a  week  George  Kelly,  having  deposited 


PARSON    KELLY  151 

his  money  with  Mr.  Philabe,  the  banker,  sat  every 
morning  on  his  bench  with  what  patience  he  might. 
He  came  in  consequence  to  take  particular  notice  of 
an  oldish  man  and  a  rosebud  of  a  girl  who  walked 
along  the  boulevard  every  morning  at  the  time  that 
he  was  waiting.  They  were  accompanied  by  a 
French  poodle  dog,  and  indeed  it  was  the  poodle 
dog  which  first  attracted  Mr.  Kelly's  attention  to  the 
couple.  It  has  already  been  said  that  Mr.  Kelly  had 
a  trick  of  catching  a  woman's  eyes,  though  this 
quality  implies  no  great  merit.  On  the  other  hand 
he  drew  dogs  and  children  to  him,  and  that  implies  a 
very  great  merit,  as  you  may  observe  from  this,  that 
there  is  never  a  human  being  betwixt  here  and  Cathay 
will  admit  that  dogs  and  children  have  a  dislike  for 
him. 

The  poodle  dog,  then,  comes  to  a  halt  opposite 
Mr.  Kelly's  bench  on  the  very  first  morning  that  he 
sat  there,  cocks  his  ears,  lifts  a  forefoot  from  the 
ground,  and,  looking  after  the  old  man  and  the  young 
girl,  says  plain  as  print,  '  Here,  wait  a  bit !  There  's 
something  on  this  bench  very  well  worth  looking 
into.'  However,  his  master  and  mistress  were  in  a 
close  conversation  and  so  the  poodle  puts  his  foot  on 
the  ground  and  trots  after  them.  But  the  next 
morning  he  came  up  to  the  bench,  puts  his  head  of 
one  side  to  display  the  fine  blue  riband  round  his 
neck,  squats  on  his  haunches,  and  flops  a  paw  on  to 
the  Parson's  knee. 

'  How  d'  ye  do? '  says  the  Parson  politely. 

'  I  think  I  '11  stretch  myself,  thank  you,'  says  the 
poodle,  and  promptly  proceeds  to  do  so,  using  Mr. 
Kelly's  knee  as  a  purchase  for  his  paws.     He  was 


152  PARSON    KELLY 

still  engaged  upon  this  exercise  when  his  young 
mistress  missed  him.  She  whistled;  the  poodle 
looked  at  the  Parson  with  the  clearest  invitation. 

'Won't  you  come  too?  ' 

*  I  have  not  been  presented,'  replied  the  Parson. 

Thereupon  the  girl  turned  round. 

'  Harlequin,'  she  called  to  the  dog,  and  showed  Mr. 
Kelly  as  sweet  a  face  as  a  young  man  ever  deserved 
to  see.  It  was  fresh  and  clear  as  the  morning  dew, 
with  frank  eyes  and  a  scarlet  bow  of  a  mouth  ready 
for  a  laugh.  '  Harlequin  ! '  said  Mr.  Kelly  to  himself 
with  a  start,  as  he  looked  towards  the  girl.  Harlequin 
trotted  off  to  his  mistress,  and  got  prettily  chided  for 
his  forwardness,  of  which  chiding  he  made  little  or  no 
account,  and  very  properly.  It  is  not  every  dog  that 
achieves  immortality  by  stretching  itself  against  a 
stranger's  knee.  But  Harlequin  did.  For  had  Har- 
lequin not  made  Mr.  Kelly's  acquaintance,  he  would 
never  have  found  a  niche  in  Mr.  Swift's  verses. 

Now  let  me  tell  you  plainly,  Sir, 
Our  witness  is  a  real  cur, 
A  dog  of  spirit  for  his  years. 
Has  twice  two  legs,  two  hanging  ears, 
His  name  is  Harlequin^  I  wot. 
And  that 's  a  name  in  every  plot : 
...... 

His  answers  were  extremely  witty 
Before  the  secret  wise  Committee; 
Confest  as  plain  as  he  could  bark, 
Then  with  his  fore-foot  left  his  mark  : 

wrote  the  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's  concerning  this  very 
poodle  dog  of  Miss  Rose  Townley. 

For  Rose  Townley  was  the  girl's  name,  as  the  Par- 


PARSON    KELLY  153 

son  now  knew,  and  the  old  gentleman  was  her  father, 
who  had  tended  Mr.  Nicholas  Wogan  after  his  wounds 
in  the  year  '15  at  Preston,  Mr.  Wogan  had  more 
than  once  spoken  to  Kelly  of  Dr.  Townley  and  his 
daughter  Rose,  who  had  retired  to  Avignon,  after  the 
Rising,  and  he  had  made  mention  of  their  poodle 
Harlequin,  of  which  poodle  the  present  or  reigning 
dog,  Harlequin  11.,  was  the  son  and  heir.  So  that, 
hearing  the  name  called  out  by  Rose,  Kelly  was 
aware  who  the  two  people  were.  Dr.  Townley  had 
been  suspected  in  the  Rising,  and  therefore  had  settled 
at  Avignon  as  physician  to  the  Duke  of  Ormond,  and 
when  the  nobleman  left  the  town,  remained  because 
he  was  grown  old,  and  had  lost  his  taste  for  politics 
and  warrings.  He  had,  moreover,  received  his  pardon 
for  his  share  in  the  struggle,  and  was  indeed  at  this 
very  time  preparing  to  return  into  England.  But  of 
this  Kelly  was  not  aware. 

The  next  morning  Kelly  was  again  on  his  bench, 
and  again  Dr.  Townley  and  his  daughter  passed  him. 
Harlequin  came  forward  at  once  to  wish  the  Parson 
good-morning.  Rose  spoke  to  her  father,  plainly 
telling  him  of  Harlequin's  new  friendship,  for  the 
Doctor  looked  up  towards  Mr.  Kelly  and  the  girl 
looked  away.  In  consequence  there  sprang  up  a 
queer  sort  of  acquaintance  between  the  Doctor  and 
his  daughter  on  the  one  hand,  and  Parson  Kelly  on 
the  other.  Every  morning  they  looked  for  him  on 
his  bench ;  every  morning  he  had  a  few  words  with 
Harlequin. 

Doubtless  he  would  have  pursued  the  acquaintance 
further,  but  for  Rose.  She  it  was  who  kept  the 
Parson  from  approaching  Dr.  Townley.     For  he  was 


154  PARSON    KELLY 

still  sore  with  Lady  Oxford's  treacheries,  and  feminine 
beauty  was  vanitas  vanitatiini  to  him.  Moreover, 
though  he  had  snatched  her  ladyship's  image  out  of  his 
heart,  some  of  her  sayings  had  stuck  in  his  mind,  and 
amongst  her  sayings  not  a  few  were  aimed  at  girls. 
Smilinda  was  a  woman,  and  saw  a  rival  in  each  youth- 
ful beauty.  '  Girls  of  our  time,'  she  would  say  with  a 
sneer,  '  were  very  kind,  at  all  events,  whatever  one 
might  think  of  their  looks.  And  to  hear  them  speak 
of  marriage,  why  one  would  fancy  oneself  in  the  com- 
pany of  rakes  dressed  up  like  the  other  sex  for  a 
masquerade.'  She  would  gloat  over  the  misadven- 
tures of  poor  Mistress  Dolly  Walpole,  the  Minister's 
sister,  by  the  hour,  she  had  even  written  a  ballad 
thereon,  '  The  Dolliad,*  and  since  Mr.  Kelly  had 
never  had  been  much  in  the  society  of  young  un- 
married women,  he  had  insensibly  imbibed  a  deal  of 
Smilinda's  philosophy  upon  this  head.  And  so  he 
waited  for  the  messenger  in  silence. 

Now,  upon  the  fourth  day  Mr.  Philabe  the  banker 
sent  round  for  the  Parson  to  L'Auberge  des  Papes, 
and,  when  he  was  come,  told  him  that  on  that  morn- 
ing a  man  called  at  the  bank  with  a  letter  which  he 
gave  to  a  clerk.  The  clerk  carried  the  letter  to  Mr. 
Philabe,  who  opened  it.  It  enclosed  a  second  letter 
superscribed  to  Mr.  George  Kelly,  and  prayed  the 
banker  to  add  to  the  superscription  Mr.  Kelly's 
address.  This  Mr.  Philabe  would  not  do,  but  sent 
out  word  that  he  would  take  care  the  letter  came 
into  Kelly's  hands.  The  man,  however,  who  had 
brought  it  immediately  replied  that  it  was  of  the  last 
importance  the  letter  should  be  delivered  at  once: 
otherwise  there  was  no  use  in  delivering  it  at  all.     If 


PARSON    KELLY  155 

Mr.  Philabe  would  send  a  messenger  at  once,  well  and 
good ;  if  not,  would  he  kindly  return  the  letter 
forthwith. 

This  request  roused  Mr.  Philabe's  suspicions.  For 
if  he  sent  a  messenger,  as  he  was  prayed  to  do,  the 
man  could  follow  him,  and  as  easily  discover  the 
address  as  if  Philabe  had  written  it  on  the  note.  He 
replied  consequently  that  neither  could  he  accede  to 
this  request,  but  that  Mr.  Kelly  should  most  certainly 
have  the  letter  that  day. 

Upon  this  the  man  insisted  that  the  letter  should 
be  returned  to  him,  but  the  more  strenuously  he  in- 
sisted, the  stronger  became  Mr.  Philabe's  suspicions, 
until  he  determined  not  to  part  with  the  letter  at  all, 
and  the  man  finally  went  away  very  ill-pleased. 

Mr.  Philabe,  as  he  told  this  story,  handed  the 
letter  to  Mr.  Kelly,  who  broke  open  the  seal,  and 
found  nothing  but  a  clean  sheet  of  paper. 

*  Little  doubt,'  said  he,  '  why  the  fellow  wanted  his 
letter  back.  It  is  a  pure  trick  to  know  where  I 
lodge.     What  was  he  like  ?  ' 

'  He   wore    a   travelling-dress,'    said    Mr.    Philabe, 

*  and  a  cocked  hat.' 

'  And    very  likely  a  pair  of  boots,'   added  Kelly. 

*  But  this  tells  me  very  little  of  his  looks.' 

Mr.  Philabe  was  a  poor  hand  at  a  description,  and 
beyond  that  the  man  had  a  nose,  two  eyes,  a  mouth, 
two  legs,  and  a  pair  of  arms,  Kelly  learned  nothing 
whatever  of  his  appearance. 

That  very  day,  however,  the  mystery  was  to  be 
made  clear.  Between  daylight  and  dark  Mr.  Kelly 
chanced  to  walk  up  the  narrow  Rue  St.  Agricole, 
and    had  just  come   abreast  of  the   broad    flight  of 


156  PARSON    KELLY 

steps  which  leads  upwards  to  the  church,  when  a 
man   leaped   down  in    front  of  him. 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,'  said  the  Parson  politely 
stepping  aside. 

'That  is  not  enough,'  said  the  other,  and,  turning 
on  his  heel,  he  faced  Kelly  and  barred  the  way, 

Kelly  recognised  the  voice,  recognised  the  face. 

'  Ah,'  cried  he,  '  Mr.  Scrope.'  His  first  feeling  was 
one  almost  of  exultation.  In  the  face  of  his  enemy 
he  forgot  altogether  that  there  was  no  longer  any 
amorous  reason  for  his  enmity.  He  almost  forgot, 
too,  what  he  had  heard  from  Wogan  about  Mr. 
Scrope's  supposed  quality  as  a  gentleman  spy. 
'  The  third  time,'  he  said  with  a  laugh.  '  I  promised 
myself  the  third  time.' 

Scrope  nodded  his  head. 

*  We  are  of  one  mind,  then.'  He  looked  up  and 
down  the  street.  It  was  empty  from  end  to  end. 
'  There  is  a  little  square  terrace  at  the  top  of  these 
steps,  with  blank  walls  upon  the  two  sides,  and  the 
church  door  upon  the  third.  The  terrace  will  be 
very  suitable  and  quiet.' 

He  turned  as  he  spoke  and  set  a  foot  upon  the 
lowest  step. 

'  One  moment,'  said  Kelly.  During  Scrope's  words 
he  had  reflected.  Scrope  and  himself,  politics  apart, 
were  really  in  the  like  case.  For  if  he  had  followed 
Scrope  in  her  ladyship's  caprices,  Montague  had 
followed  him,  '  as  Amurath  to  Amurath  succeeds.' 
His  enmity  quite  died  away,  and  gave  place  to  some- 
thing very  like  a  fellow-feeling.  Moreover,  he  had 
to  consider  the  messenger  from  the  Duke  of  Ormond 
and  the  5,000/.  in  Mr.  Philabc's  keeping. 


PARSON    KELLY 


157 


'  One  moment,'  he  said.  Scrope  stopped  with  a 
sneer. 

'  If  you  can  remain  a  few  days  at  Avignon/  he 
continued,  '  I  shall  be  happy  to  oblige  you  in  what- 
ever you  will.     For  the  moment  I  have  duties.' 

*  Of  course,'  interrupted  Scrope.  'Duties  are 
wonderful  convenient  things  when  one's  bones  are  in 
danger.  The  pious  ^-Eneas  knew  that  very  well,  Mr. 
Kelly ;  but  then  the  worthy  army-chaplain  had  not 
a  Scrope  upon  his  heels  for  the  best  part  of  a 
twelvemonth.' 

'  Oh,'  cried  Kelly,  '  then  it  is  you  who  have  fol- 
lowed me.'  More  than  once  he  had  heard  that  his 
steps  were  dogged. 

'  Over  a  wearisome  stretch  of  Europe,*  agreed 
Scrope. 

'  It  was  you  who  came  to  Philabe  this  morning?  ' 

'Who  else?  So,  you  see,  I  have  been  at  some 
pains  to  come  up  with  you,  and  those  duties  must 
wait.' 

'  Those  duties,'  replied  Kelly,  '  are  so  urgent  that 
I  am  in  two  minds  whether  to  take  to  my  heels.' 

To  any  man  who  was  acquainted  with  the  Parson 
this  statement  would  have  been  proof  enough  that 
there  was  all  the  necessity  in  the  world  for  delay. 
But  then  Scrope  knew  very  little  of  his  opponent, 
and : 

'  I  am  not  at  all  surprised  to  hear  that,'  he  replied 
contemptuously. 

Mr.  Kelly  reddened  at  the  sneer,  but  kept  a  tight 
hold  upon  his  patience. 

*  Understand  me,'  said  he  quietly.  '  If  I  ran  away 
now,  I  should  most  certainly  follow  you  afterwards, 


158  PARSON   KELLY 

as  you  have  followed  me,  and  when  I  Came  Up  with 
you  I  should  kill  you.' 

'And  understand  me,'  broke  in  Scrope.  His  cold, 
sneering  face  suddenly  lighted  up  with  a  fierce  pas- 
sion. '  Neither  you  will  follow  me,  nor  I  you.  We 
stand  face  to  face,  as  I  have  hoped  we  should  until 
I  have  dreamed  the  hope  true.  You  have  robbed  me 
of  what  I  held  most  precious.  You  have  done  worse. 
You  have  proved  to  me  that  what  I  held  most  pre- 
cious was  never  worth  so  much  as  a  cracked  farthing. 
That  morning  I  came  to  Brampton  Bryan,  I  came  at 
Lady  Oxford's  bidding.  We  were  to  have  done  with 
pretences  for  good  and  all.  Oh,  she  had  forgotten,  if 
you  will,  but  if  she  had  forgotten,  who  made  her  for- 
get? You,  Mr.  Kelly,  the  sneaking  cuckoo  !  I 
would  have  worn  her  proudly,  for  all  the  world  to 
see  —  the  star  upon  my  coat,  the  scarf  across  my 
breast.  I  would  have  faced  my  fellows  with  one  arm 
for  her  waist,  and  the  other  for  a  naked  sword  to 
silence  their  slanders  with.  Well,  there  's  no  waist, 
but  there  's  still  the  naked  sword.'  As  he  spoke,  with 
his  left  hand  he  jerked  his  sword  out  of  the  scabbard, 
and  caught  it  by  the  hilt  with  his  right.  'There's 
still  the  naked  sword,'  he  laughed,  with  a  sort  of 
thrill  in  the  laugh,  and  made  the  blade  whistle 
through  the  air.  There  's  still  the  sword  and  a  vile 
cuckoo  of  a  parson  — ' 

'  That's  enough,'  cried  Kelly,  marching  to  the  steps 
in  an  anger  now  not  a  whit  less  than  Scrope's,  for 
there  was  a  certain  sting  of  truth  in  Scrope's  abuse 
which  put  him  to  shame ;  '  more  than  enough.' 

'  No,  not  more  than  enough,'  said  Scrope  quietly, 
and  he  followed. 


PARSON    KELLY  159 

'You  want  a  little  more?'  said  Kelly,  who  had 
reflected.  'Very  well;  your  heroics  maybe  candid 
enough,  but  it  is  less  Mr.  Scrope  the  lover  and  rival 
than  Mr.  Scrope,  the  spy,  that  I  regard  with  a  cer- 
tain misliking.' 

'  Asses,  you  die ! '  said  Scrope,  with  a  hiss  in  his 
voice. 

The  space  at  the  top  of  the  steps  was  a  pretty 
enough  spot  for  their  purpose.  It  was  open  only  on 
the  side  towards  the  street,  which  was  quite  deserted, 
and  raised  so  high  above  the  pathway  that  a  passer-by 
would  see  nothing  of  what  was  doing.  On  the  other 
hand,  however,  the  light  was  failing.  Scrope  was  for 
bringing  the  encounter  to  a  speedy  end,  and  drove  at 
the  Parson  in  an  impetuous  fury.  His  sword  glittered 
and  darted  very  chill  and  cold  in  that  grey  twilight. 
He  thrust  swift  as  a  serpent. 

The  blood  of  the  Parson  was  also  up.  He  had  at 
first  regarded  Scrope's  challenge  as  a  pure  piece  of 
irony.  Why  should  two  men  fight  for  a  hilding  who 
had  equally  jilted  and  cheated  the  pair?  That  had 
been  George's  first  thought;  but  now  his  rapier  was 
drawn  for  the  Cause,  and  to  rid  it  of  a  dangerous 
enemy.  Scrope  was  probably  on  the  track  of  Ormond 
and  the  gold,  as  well  as  on  that  of  his  rival. 

The  Parson  was  as  brave  as  steel,  but  (though  he 
never  knew  it)  was  no  true  master  of  the  play.  The 
men  rushed  at  each  other;  their  swords  were  locked, 
they  were  breast  to  breast;  George  wrenched  his 
blade  free,  leaped  back  to  get  his  distance,  struck 
his  heel  against  a  cobble,  and  the  next  moment 
he  felt  Scrope's  blade  burn  into  his  side.  Kelly 
clasped  his  hand  over  the  wound,   and   sank   on  to 


i6o  PARSON    KELLY 

the  ground.  The  blood  came  through  between  his 
fingers;  he  snatched  the  cravat  from  his  neck,  and 
made  a  poor  shift  to  bandage  it  about  his  body. 
The  one  thought  in  his  mind  was  of  the  Duke  of 
Ormond's  messenger.  Perhaps  the  very  next  morn- 
ing he  might  come  to  Avignon  and  find  no  one  on 
the  bench. 

'  A  surgeon,'  he  whispered  to  Scrope,  saving  his 
breath.  Scrope  was  quietly  wiping  his  sword,  and 
made  no  reply. 

'  A  surgeon,'  repeated  Kelly.     '  I  must  live.' 

'  Or  die,'  said  Scrope  carelessly.  He  pulled  on  his 
coat,  and  came  close  to  Kelly.  Then  he  suddenly 
felt  in  his  pockets. 

'  No,'  he  said,  with  an  air  of  disappointment.  '  I 
was  hoping  that  I  had  a  copy  of  Virgil  wherewith  to 
soothe  your  last  moments.  Shall  I  take  a  message 
to  her  ladyship?  '  He  picked  up  his  hat.  '  Or  shall 
I  ask  Mr.  Nicholas  Wogan  to  write  a  ballad  — 
"  Strephon's  Farewell  to  his  Smilinda  "?  Mr.  Wogan 
would,  I  think,  be  extremely  amusing  with  so  pathet- 
ical  a  subject  for  his  Muse.  Well,  it  grows  late.  You 
will,  no  doubt,  excuse  me.' 

He  made  a  bow  to  the  Parson,  clapped  his  hat  on 
his  head,  and  walked,  whistling  to  the  steps.  He 
stopped  when  he  had  descended  a  couple  of  them, 
and,  turning,  shook  his  head  thoughtfully  at  Kelly. 

'But  I  am  grieved  I  have  no  Virgil,'  he  said,  and 
so  disappeared  below  the  level  of  the  terrace. 

Kelly  listened  till  the  sound  of  his  feet  died  slowly 
down  the  street.  Then  he  began  to  drag  himself 
painfully  upon  his  knees  towards  the  steps.  He  did 
not  dare  to  get  to  his  feet,  lest  his  blood  should  flow 


i 


PARSON    KELLY  16 1 

faster  from  his  wound.  He  did  not  dare  to  shout. 
He  crawled  forward  over  the  flags  for  miles,  it 
seemed;  then  the  knot  of  the  bandage  got  loose, 
and  a  great  faintness  came  over  him.  With  fumbling 
fingers  he  re-tied  the  knot;  the  flags  began  to  heave 
before  his  eyes  like  waves  of  the  sea,  the  silence 
roared  in  his  ears.  He  looked  upwards,  and  a  spin- 
ning procession  of  houses  and  churches  turned  him 
giddy.  He  sank  down  on  his  side,  and  then  he  was 
aware  of  something  wet  that  rasped  along  his  hand. 
He  looked  down.  There  was  a  joyous  little  bark, 
and  the  something  wet  rasped  along  his  cheek. 

*  Harlequin !  '  he  thought,  with  a  pang  of  hope. 
He  summoned  all  his  strength,  all  his  will ;  the 
houses  ceased  to  spin.  He  let  himself  down  to  his 
full  length,  with  great  care  drew  a  scrap  from  one 
pocket,  a  pencil  from  the  other,  and  laboriously 
wrote.  Then  he  poked  the  paper  underneath  the 
ribbon  round  the  poodle's  neck.  '  Home !  '  he  cried, 
clapping  his  hands ;   and  fainted. 

But  ten  minutes  afterwards  Miss  Rose  Townley 
unfolded  a  slip  of  paper,  with  here  and  there  the 
mark  of  a  bloody  thumb,  and  written  on  it  these 
words,  '  Help  Harlequin's  friend  ' ;  and  at  her  feet  a 
bright-eyed  poodle  dog  stood,  wagging  his  tail,  ready 
to  conduct  her  to  the  spot  where  Harlequin's  friend 
lay  in  sore  need. 


IX 


CHAPTER   XIII 

OF  THE   ROSE  AND   THE   ROSE-GARDEN   IN   AVIGNON. 

LIFE  is  not  wholly  the  lopsided  business  that 
some  would  have  you  esteem  it.  Here  was 
the  Parson  paying,  with  a  sword-thrust  of  the  first 
quality,  for  a  love-affair  that  was  dead  already ;  over 
and  ended.  That  was  bad,  but,  to  balance  his  ac- 
counts, the  Parson  waked  up  from  his  swoon  in  Dr. 
Townley's  house,  with  the  Doctor's  beautiful  daugh- 
ter, Rose,  to  be  his  nurse-tender.  Lady  Oxford  had 
caused  his  duel  with  Scrope,  to  be  sure,  but  she  had 
thereby,  as  it  were,  cast  him  straight  into  the  girl's 
arms,  and  in  that  very  condition  which  was  likely 
to  make  her  most  tender  to  him.  Carry  the  conceit 
a  little  farther,  and  you  '11  see  that  here  was  Mr. 
Kelly,  through  her  ladyship's  behaviours,  imprisoned 
in  the  hands  of  one  of  those  very  creatures  which  she 
was  ever  persuading  him  to  avoid  :  namely,  that  ter- 
rible monster  a  girl,  and  she  very  young,  frank,  and 
beautiful.  When  the  Parson  came  to  his  senses,  he 
called  Dr.  Townley  to  his  side,  and  telling  him  who 
he  was,  and  how  that,  being  a  friend  of  Mr.  Wogan's, 
he  knew  the  doctor  from  hearing  his  daughter  call 
the  dog  Harlequin,  he  continued: 

'  You  were  at  Preston  with  my  friend,  and  I  there- 
fore have  the  less  reluctance  in  asking  a  service  of 


PARSON    KELLY  163 

you  beyond  those  you  have  already  done  me ;  '  and 
he  began  to  tell  the  Doctor  of  the  expected  mes- 
senger from  Spain  whom  he  was  to  meet  on  the 
boulevard. 

But  the  Doctor  interrupted  him. 

'  Mr.  VVogan  is  indeed  my  friend,  though  I  have 
seen  nothing  of  him  these  past  six  years;  and  his 
name  is  a  passport  into  our  friendship,  as  my  daughter 
will  assure  you.  So,  Mr.  Kelly,  such  kindness  and 
hospitality  as  we  can  show  you  you  may  count  upon ; 
but  —  well,  I  had  my  surfeit  of  politics  at  Preston.  I 
have  no  longer  any  faith  in  your  cause,  in  your  King. 
I  do  not  think  that  he  will  come  before  the  coming 
of  the  Coquecigrues.  I  am,  indeed,  leaving  Avignon  in 
a  few  months,  and  hope  for  nothing  better  than  a 
peaceful  life  in  some  village  of  my  own  country 
under  the  King  who  now  sits  on  the  throne. 

This  he  said  very  kindly,  but  with  a  certain  sol- 
emnity which  quite  closed  Mr.  Kelly's  lips ;  and  so, 
giving  him  a  sleeping  potion,  the  Doctor  left  the 
room.  In  spite  of  the  potion,  however,  the  Parson 
made  but  a  restless  night  of  it,  and  more  than  once 
from  under  his  half-closed  lids  he  saw  the  doctor 
come  to  his  bedside;  but  towards  morning  he  fell 
into  something  of  a  sleep  and  woke  up  in  the  broad 
daylight  with  a  start,  as  a  man  will  who  has  some- 
thing on  his  mind.  In  a  minute  or  two  Mr.  Kelly 
remembered  what  that  something  was.  He  got  out 
of  his  bed,  and,  holding  the  door  open,  listened. 
There  was  no  sound  audible  at  all  except  the  ticking 
of  a  clock  in  the  parlour  below.  Mr.  Kelly  drew  on 
his  clothes  carefully,  so  as  not  to  disarrange  the 
bandages  of  his  wound,  and,  taking  his  shoes  in  his 


1 64  PARSON    KELLY 

hand,  crept  down  the  stairs.  It  was  a  slow,  painful 
business,  and  more  than  once  he  had  to  sit  down  on 
the  steps  and  rest.  He  glanced  into  the  parlour  as 
he  passed,  and  saw,  to  his  great  relief,  that  it  was  only- 
half  past  eight  in  the  morning.  What  with  fomenta- 
tions and  bandages  Mr.  Kelly  had  kept  the  tiny 
household  out  of  bed  to  a  late  hour,  and  so  no  one 
was  astir.  He  drew  back  the  bolt  and  slipped  out  of 
the  house. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Dr.  Townley  came  into  the 
bedroom  and  found  it  empty.  He  scratched  his 
head  to  ease  his  perplexity,  and  then  wisely  took 
counsel  with  his  daughter. 

'  There  was  a  man  he  expected  to  come  for  him,' 
he  said.  *  He  was  very  urgent  last  night  that  I  should 
see  to  it.  But  T  cut  him  short,  and  so  do  not  know 
where  they  were  to  meet  with  each  other.' 

At  that  moment  the  clock  in  the  parlour  struck 
nine. 

'  I  know !  '  cried  Rose  on  a  sudden,  and  dragged 
her  father  off  to  the  boulevard  outside  the  Porte  du 
Rhone,  where  they  discovered  Mr.  Kelly  sitting  bolt 
upright  on  his  bench,  with  a  flushed  red  face  and 
extraordinarily  bright  eyes,  chattering  to  himself  like 
a  monkey. 

The  Parson  lay  for  a  week  after  that  at  death's 
door,  and  it  needed  all  Dr.  Townley's  skill  and  Rose's 
nursing  to  keep  him  out  of  the  grave.  Meanwhile 
the  Duke  of  Ormond's  messenger  arrived  from  Cor- 
unna,  and  kicked  his  heels  on  the  boulevard  until 
Mr.  Kelly  recovered  his  senses  and  summoned  Mr. 
Philabe  to  his  aid.  Mr.  Philabe  the  next  morning 
took  Kelly's  place  on  the  bench,  and  that  day  the 


PARSON    KELLY  165 

money  changed  hands  and  the  messenger  started 
back  post-haste  to  Corunna.  At  Corunna  he  told  the 
story  of  the  Parson's  misfortune  in  more  than  one 
cafe,  and  so  it  came  shortly  to  Wogan's  ears,  who  put 
in  with  his  ship  at  that  port  in  order  to  give  up  his 
command. 

The  reason  for  this  change  in  Wogan's  condition 
was  simple  enough.  Sufficient  arms  and  ammunition 
had  now  been  collected  at  Bilboa,  and  it  was  become 
urgent  that  the  plans  for  the  rising  of  the  soldiers  in 
England,  and  the  capture  of  the  Tower  of  London, 
should  be  taken  earnestly  in  hand.  The  Duke  of 
Ormond,  who  was  to  land  in  the  West,  was  supposed 
a  great  favourite  with  the  English  troops,  but  it  was 
none  the  less  necessary  that  their  favour  should  be 
properly  directed.  To  that  end  Mr.  Talbot,  Tyrell, 
and  Nicholas  Wogan,  amongst  others,  were  deputed 
to  travel  into  England,  ready  for  the  moment  of 
striking.  Nick  was  to  have  the  rank  of  a  colonel,  and 
was  bidden  to  repair  to  Paris  by  a  certain  date,  where 
he  was  to  take  his  instructions  from  General  Dillon 
and  the  Earl  of  Mar.  Now  that  date  gave  him  half  a 
week  or  so  of  leisure,  and  he  knew  of  no  better  use 
to  which  he  could  put  it  than  in  stopping  at  Avignon, 
which  lay  directly  in  his  path  to  Paris. 

But  before  he  reached  the  olives  of  Provence  Mr. 
Kelly  was  convalescent  and  much  had  happened. 
How  it  had  happened  Mr.  Wogan  only  discovered  by 
hints  which  the  Parson  let  slip  unconsciously.  For 
George  had  a  complete  distaste  for  the  sensibilities, 
and,  after  all,  a  true  man,  even  in  the  company  of  his 
closest  friend,  never  does  more  than  touch  lightly 
upon  the  fringe  of  what  he  holds  most  sacred.     He 


1 66  PARSON    KELLY 

said  that  he  was  recovered  of  two  fevers  at  one  and 
the  same  time,  and  by  the  same  ministering  hands, 
and  so  was  come  forth  into  a  sweet,  cool  life  and  a 
quiet  air.  His  affairs,  whether  of  stocks  in  the  Mis- 
sissippi scheme  or  of  the  Great  Business,  went  clean 
out  of  his  mind.  His  heart  was  swept  and  garnished 
like  the  man's  in  the  Parable,  and  almost  unawares  a 
woman  opened  the  door  and  stepped  in,  bringing  with 
her  train  seven  virtues,  as  of  modesty,  innocence, 
faith,  cheerfulness,  youth,  courage,  and  love  —  qual- 
ities no  better  nor  no  fairer  than  herself 

How  did  it  begin?  Why,  at  the  first  there  would 
be  a  smiling  face  at  the  doorway  to  wish  him  a  good 
morning,  or  if  he  had  slept  ill  a  sweet  look  of  anxious 
fear  which  would  make  up  for  a  dozen  sleepless 
nights.  When  he  could  get  up  from  his  bed  and 
come  into  the  parlour,  the  dog  Harlequin,  and  Rose, 
and  he  became  children  and  playfellows  together,  for 
the  brute  had  been  taught  a  hundred  pretty  tricks 
that  would  make  a  dying  man  laugh ;  until  at  length 
the  girl  grew  familiar,  and  was  seated  at  the  very 
hearth  and  centre  of  his  affections,  where  her  memory 
remains  enshrined. 

Mr.  Kelly  spoke  frankly  of  the  matter  only  once  in 
Mr.  Wogan's  hearing,  and  that  was  many  years  after- 
wards, and  then  he  was  not  speaking  of  the  matter  at 
all.  It  was  Lady  Mary  W^ortley  who  set  him  on  to 
it  one  night. 

For  she  quoted  a  saying  of  some  sage  or  another. 
'  In  a  man,'  said  she,  '  desire  begets  love,  and  in  a 
woman  love  begets  desire.' 

'And  that  is  true,'  said  Kelly.  'I  do  think  the 
steadfast  and  honourable  passions  between  our   sex 


PARSON    KELLY  167 

and  women  are  apt  to  have  their  beginnings  on  the 
woman's  side,  and  then,  being  perceived  and  most 
gratefully  welcomed,  light  up  as  pure  a  flame  in  the 
heart  of  a  man.  For  otherwise,  if  a  man  sees  a 
woman  that  she  is  fair,  as  King  David  saw  Bathsheba, 
and  so  covets  her,  his  appetite  may  in  the  end  turn 
to  love  or  may  not.  But  if  his  eyes  are  first  opened 
to  an  innocent  woman's  love,  he  being  at  best  a  sin- 
ful creature,  he  is  then  stirred  with  a  wonderful 
amazement  of  grateful  tenderness  which  never  can 
pass  away,  but  must  endure,  as  I  hold,  even  after 
death.'  Which  was  all  very  modish  and  philosophi- 
cal, and  meant  —  well,  just  what  anyone  who  had 
visited  Avignon  in  February  of  the  year  '22  might 
have  seen  with  half  an  eye.  Rose  was  in  love  with 
the  Parson  and  the  Parson  knew  it,  and  so  fell  in  love 
with  Rose. 

Mr.  VVogan  reached  Avignon  in  the  afternoon. 
The  Doctor's  house  stood  a  stone's  throw  from  the 
Palace  of  the  Emperor  Constantine,  with  a  little 
garden  at  the  back  which  ran  down  to  the  city  wall. 
The  top  of  the  wall  was  laid  out  as  a  walk  with  a 
chair  or  two,  and  there  Wogan  found  the  Parson  and 
Rose  Townley.  It  was  five  years  and  more  since 
Wogan  had  seen  Rose  Townley,  and  she  was  grown 
from  a  child  to  a  woman.  He  paid  her  a  foolish 
compliment,  and  then  the  three  of  them  fell  into  an 
awkward  silence.  Mr.  Wogan  asked  Kelly  for  a 
history  of  his  wound,  and  then : 

'  So  't  was  Scrope.  Lady  Mary  was  right  when  she 
warned  me  we  had  not  seen  the  last  of  him.  'Faith, 
George,  it  was  my  fault.  For,  d'  ye  see,  if  I  had  not 
been  so  fond  of  my  poetry  I  should  have  made  my 


1 68  PARSON    KELLY 

account  with  the  gentleman  at  the  gates  of  Brampton 
Bryan  Manor,  and  you  would  never  have  been 
troubled  with  him  at  all.' 

"Brampton  Bryan?"  asked  Rose.  "Where  is 
that?" 

Mr.  Kelly  made  no  answer,  and  perhaps  Wogan's 
remark  was  not  the  discreetest  in  the  world.  Miss 
Rose  would  not  forget  that  name,  Brampton  Bryan. 
At  all  events,  the  three  of  them  fell  to  silence 
once  more,  and  Mr.  Wogan  knew  that  he  was  tres- 
passing and  that  he  would  have  done  better  to 
have  journeyed  straight  to  Paris.  Rose,  however, 
came  to  the  rescue  and  made  him  tell  over  again,  as 
he  had  told  her  often  before,  his  stories  of  the  march 
to  Preston.  But,  whereas  before  she  had  listened  to 
them  with  a  great  enthusiasm  and  an  eagerness  for 
more,  now  her  colour  came  and  went  as  though  they 
frightened  her,  and  she  would  glance  with  a  quick 
apprehension  towards  the  Parson. 

'  And  the  battles  are  to  be  fought  all  over  again,' 
she  said,  clasping  her  hands  on  her  knees,  and  then 
plied  Wogan  for  more  details.  She  shivered  at  the 
thought  of  wounds  and  cannon-balls  and  swords,  yet 
she  must  know  to  the  very  last  word  all  that  was  to 
be  described  of  them.  So,  until  the  sun  sank  behind 
the  low  green  hills  of  the  Cevennes,  and  the  Rhone 
at  their  feet,  in  that  land  of  olives,  took  on  a  pure 
olive  tint.  Then  she  rose  and  went  into  the  house  to 
prepare  the  supper,  leaving  the  two  friends  together; 
and  it  presently  appeared  that  Rose  Townley  was  not 
the  only  one  who  was  frightened. 

The  Parson  watched  her  as  she  went  down  the 
garden,  brushing  the  pink  blossoms  from  the  boughs 


PARSON    KELLY  169 

of  a  peach  tree  or  two  that  grew  on  the  lawn.  There 
was  an  old  moss-grown  stone  sundial  close  to  the 
house ;  she  paused  for  a  moment  beside  it  to  pick  up 
a  scarf  which  was  laid  on  the  top  and  so  passed 
through  the  window,  whence  in  a  moment  or  two  a 
lamp-light  shone.  The  Parson  seemed  sunk  in  a 
reverie. 

*I  am  afraid,  Nick,'  he  said  slowly.     *I  am  afraid.' 

'What!  You  too?'  exclaimed  Wogan.  'Afraid  of 
the  wars  ? ' 

'The  wars  —  no,  no,'  replied  Kelly  scornfully  dis- 
missing the  interpretation  of  his  fears,  and  then  fol- 
lowing out  his  own  train  of  thoughts,  'you  have 
known  her  a  long  time,  Nick?' 

'  Six  years.' 

'  I  would  that  I  too  had  known  her  six  years  ago,' 
said  the  Parson  with  a  remorseful  sigh. 

'  She  has  changed  in  those  six  years.' 

'How?' 

'  Why,  she  has  grown  a  foot,  and  grown  a  trifle  shy.' 

'Ah,  but  that's  only  since  — '  began  the  Parson 
with  a  nod,  and  came  to  a  sudden  stop.  Rose's  shy- 
ness was  the  outcome  of  her  pride.  She  was  shy  just 
because  she  knew  that  she  loved  a  man  who  had 
breathed  no  word  of  love  to  her.  Mr.  Kelly  sat  for 
a  little  longer  in  silence.     Then, 

'  But  I  am  afraid,  Nick,'  he  repeated,  and  so  went 
down  into  the  house  leaving  Nick  in  some  doubt  as 
to  what  he  was  afraid  of. 

The  Parson  repeated  his  remark  the  next  morning 
after  breakfast.  Mr.  Wogan  was  smoking  a  pipe 
upon  the  wall ;  the  Parson  was  walking  restlessly 
about  as  he  spoke. 


I70  PARSON    KELLY 

'  I  am  afraid/  said  he,  and  looks  towards  the  house. 
As  soon  as  he  looked,  he  started.  So  Wogan  looked 
too.  Rose  Townley  had  just  come  from  the  window 
and  was  walking  across  the  lawn  more  or  less  towards 
them  with  an  infinite  interest  and  attention  for  every- 
thing except  the  two  figures  on  the  city  wall. 

*  She  comes  slowly,'  said  Kelly  in  a  great  trepida- 
tion, as  though  he  had  screwed  up  his  courage  till  it 
snapped  like  a  fiddle-string.  '  She  is  lost  in  thought. 
No  doubt  she  would  not  be  disturbed,'  and  he  glanced 
around  him  for  means  of  escape.  There  was,  how- 
ever, only  one  flight  of  narrow  steps  from  the  wall 
down  to  the  garden ;  and  if  he  descended  that  he 
would  be  going  to  meet  her, 

Wogan  laughed.  '  She  comes  very  slowly,'  said 
he.     *  No  doubt  she  saw  you  from  the  window.' 

*  It  is  plain  she  did  not,'  replied  the  Parson,  '  for, 
as  you  say,  she  comes  very  slowly.' 

'  The  vanity  of  the  creature  ! '  cried  Wogan.  '  D'  ye 
think  if  she  saw  you  she  would  run  at  you  and  butt 
you  in  the  chest  with  her  head? ' 

*  No,'  says  Kelly  quickly.  '  I  do  not.  But  —  well, 
if  she  saw  us  here  she  would  at  the  least  look  this 
way.' 

'Would  she?'  asked  Wogan.  ' 'Faith,  my  friend, 
you  '11  have  to  go  to  school  again.  Your  ignorance 
of  the  ways  of  women  is  purely  miraculous.  She 
does  not  look  this  way,  therefore  she  does  not  know 
you  are  here !  She  looks  to  every  other  quarter ; 
observe,  she  stops  and  gazes  at  nothing  with  the 
keenest  absorption,  but  she  will  not  look  this  way. 
Oh,  indeed,  indeed,  my  simple  logician,  she  does  not 
know  you  are  here.     Again  she  comes  on  —  in  this 


PARSON    KELLY  171 

direction,  you  '11  observe,  but  how  carelessly,  as 
though  her  pretty  feet  knew  nothing  of  the  path  they 
take.  See,  she  stops  at  the  dial.  Mark  how  earnestly 
she  bends  over  it.  There  's  a  great  deal  to  observe 
in  a  dial.  One  might  think  it  was  a  clock  and,  like 
herself,  had  stopped.  There 's  a  peach  tree  she  's 
coming  to.  A  peach  tree  in  blossom.  I  '11  wager 
you  she  '11  find  something  very  strange  in  those  blos- 
soms to  delay  her.  There,  she  lifts  them,  smells 
them — there's  a  fine  perfume  in  peach  blossoms  — 
she  peers  into  them,  holds  them  away,  holds  them 
near.  One  might  fancy  they  are  the  first  peach 
blossoms  that  ever  blossomed  in  the  world.  Now 
she  comes  on  again  just  as  carelessly,  but  perhaps 
the  carelessness  is  a  thought  too  careful,  eh?  How- 
ever, she  does  not  look  this  way.  Watch  for  her 
surprise,  my  friend,  when  she  can't  but  see  you.  She 
will  be  startled,  positively  startled.  Oh,  she  does  not 
know  you  are  here.' 

The  girl  walked  to  the  steps,  mounted  them,  her 
face  rose  above  the  level  of  the  wall. 

'  Oh,'  she  cried,  '  Mr.  Kelly !  '  in  an  extremity  of 
astonishment.     Wogan  burst  out  into  a  laugh. 

'  What  is  it?  '  asked  Rose. 

'Sure,  Mr.  Kelly  will  tell  you,'  said  Wogan,  and  he 
strolled  to  the  end  of  the  walk,  turned,  walked  down 
the  steps  and  so  left  them  together. 

'  What  was  it  amused  Mr.  Wogan?  '  asked  Rose  of 
Kelly  as  soon  as  Wogan  had  vanished.  The  Parson 
left  the  question  unanswered.  He  balanced  himself 
on  one  foot  for  a  bit  then  on  the  other,  and  he  began 
at  the  end,  as  many  a  man  has  done  before. 

'  I  can  bring  you  nothing  but  myself,'  said  he,  '  and 


172  PARSON    KELLY 

to  be  sure  myself  has  battered  about  the  world  until 
it's  not  worth  sweeping  out  of  your  window.' 

*  Then  I  won't,'  said  she  with  a  laugh.  The  laugh 
trembled  a  little,  and  she  looked  out  over  the  river 
and  the  fields  of  Provence  with  eyes  which  matched 
the  morning. 

'You  won't!  '  he  repeated,  and  then  blundered  on 
in  a  voice  of  intense  commiseration.  '  My  dear,  I 
know  you  love  me.' 

It  was  not  precisely  what  Rose  expected  to  hear, 
and  she  turned  towards  the  Parson  with  a  look  of 
pride.  '  And  of  course  I  love  you  too,'  he  said 
lamely. 

'  You  might  almost  have  begun  with  that,'  said  she 
with  a  smile. 

'Was  there  need?'  he  asked.  'Since  I  thought 
every  blade  of  grass  in  your  garden  was  aware  of  it' 
Then  he  stood  for  a  second  silent.  '  Rose,'  said  he, 
savouring  the  name,  and  again  '  Rose,'  with  a  happy 
sort  of  laugh.     But  he  moved  no  nearer  to  her. 

Rose  began  to  smile. 

'  I  am  glad,'  said  she  demurely,  '  that  you  find  the 
name  to  your  liking.' 

'  It  is  the  prettiest  name  in  the  world,'  cried  he  with 
enthusiasm. 

'  I  am  much  beholden  to  my  parents,'  said  she. 

'But,  my  dear,'  he  continued,  'you  put  it  to 
shame.' 

The  girl  uttered  a  sigh  which  meant  *  At  last ! ' 
but  Mr.  Kelly  was  in  that  perturbation  that  he  al- 
together misunderstood  it. 

'  But  you  must  n't  believe,  my  dear,  it 's  for  your 
looks  I  love  you,'  he  said  earnestly.     'No,  it's  for 


PARSON    KELLY  173 

your  self;  it 's  for  the  shining  perfections  of  your 
nature.  Sure  I  have  seen  good-looking  women 
before  to-day.' 

*  I  have  no  doubt  of  that,'  she  said,  tapping  with 
her  foot  on  the  pavement. 

*  Yes,  I  have,'  said  he.  *  But  when  I  looked  at 
them  'twas  to  note  the  colour  of  their  eyes  or  some 
such  triviality,  whereas  when  I  look  at  your  eyes,  it's 
as  though  a  smiling  heart  leaned  out  of  them  as  from 
a  window  and  said,  "How  d'ye  do?"  Sure,  my 
dear,  I  should  love  you  no  less  if  you  had  another 
guess  nose,  and  green  eyes.'  (He  reflectively  de- 
formed her  features.)  '  It 's  your  shining  perfec- 
tions that  I  am  on  my  knees  to.' 

'Are  you?*  she  interrupted  with  a  touch  of  plaint- 
iveness.  He  was  standing  like  a  wooden  post  and 
there  was  at  the  least  a  couple  of  yards  between 
them. 

'Just  your  shining  perfections.  'Faith,  you  have 
the  most  extraordinary  charm  without  any  perversity 
whatever,  which  is  a  pure  miracle.  I  am  not  deny- 
ing,' he  continued  thoughtfully,  '  that  there  's  some- 
thing taking  in  perversity  when  it  is  altogether 
natural,  but,  to  be  sure,  most  women  practise  it  as 
though  it  were  one  of  the  fine  arts,  and  then  it 's 
nothing  short  of  damnable  —  I  beg  your  pardon,'  he 
exclaimed  waking  up  of  a  sudden.  *  Indeed,  but  I 
don't  know  what  I  am  saying  at  all.  Rose,'  and  he 
stepped  over  to  her,  '  I  have  no  prospects  whatever 
in  the  world,  but  will  you  take  them?  ' 

Well,  she  did.  Mr.  Kelly  had  come  to  his  mean- 
ing in  a  roundabout  fashion  enough,  as  he  acknowl- 
edged that  same  day  to  Nicholas  VVogan. 


174  PARSON   KELLY 

*  Upon  my  conscience,  but  I  made  a  blundering 
ass  of  myself/  said  he. 

'  You  would,'  said  Wogan,  *  My  dear  man,  why 
did  n't  you  tell  me  of  your  intention  and  I  would  have 
written  you  out  a  fine  sort  of  speech  that  you  could 
have  got  by  heart  ?  ' 

'  Sure  I  should  have  stammered  over  the  first  sen- 
tence and  forgot  the  rest,'  said  Kelly  with  a  shake  of 
the  head,  '  To  tell  the  truth,  the  little  girl  has  sunk 
me  to  such  a  depth  of  humility  and  diffidence  that  I 
find  it  wonderful  I  said  anything  at  all.'  Then  he 
grew  silent  for  a  minute  or  so.  '  Nick,'  said  he 
secretly,  drawing  his  chair  a  trifle  closer.  '  There  's 
a  question  troubles  me.  D'  ye  think  I  should  tell  her 
of  My  Lady  Oxford  ?  ' 

'  It  would  be  entirely  superfluous,'  replied  Wogan 
with  decision,  '  since  the  thing  's  done  with.' 

'  But  is  it?  '  asked  Kelly.  '  Is  it,  Nick?  Look  you 
here.  We  thought  it  was  done  with  a  year  ago,  and 
up  springs  Mr.  Scrope  at  Avignon.  Mr.  Scrope 
does  his  work  and  there  's  not  the  end  of  it.  For  I 
am  carried  here  and  so  my  very  betrothal  is  another 
consequence.  It  is  as  though  her  ladyship  had  pre- 
sented me  to  Rose.  Well,  how  are  we  to  know  it 's 
done  with  now .''  If  it  ends  here  it  is  very  well.  But, 
d'  ye  see,  Nick,  it  was  after  all  not  the  most  honour- 
able business  in  the  world,  and  am  I  to  make  this 
great  profit  out  of  it?  Well,  perhaps  my  fears  con- 
fuse my  judgment.  I  am  all  fears  to-day,  Nick,'  and 
he  stopped  for  a  moment  and  clapped  his  hand  into 
his  pocket. 

'  I  '11  confess  to  you  a  very  childish  thing,*  said  he. 
*  Look  ! '  and  out  of  his  pocket  he  drew  a  pistol. 


PARSON    KELLY 


175 


*  What 's  that  for?  '  asked  Nick. 

'  It 's  loaded,'  replied  Kelly.  '  I  went  up  to  my 
room,  after  the  little  girl  had  taken  me,  and  loaded  it 
and  slipped  it  into  my  pocket,'  and  he  began  to  laugh, 
perhaps  something  awkwardly.  '  For,  you  see,  since 
she  prizes  me,  why  I  am  grown  altogether  valuable.' 
He  put  back  the  pistol  in  his  pocket.  '  But  don't 
misunderstand  me,  Nick.  The  new  fears  are  quite 
overbalanced  by  a  new  confidence.  Sure,  it 's  not 
the  future  I  am  afraid  of* 

'  I  understand,'  said  Wogan  gravely.  '  It 's  what 's 
to  come.' 

*  Yes,  that 's  it,'  said  Kelly. 

Being  afraid,  and  being  a  man  of  honour,  Kelly 
did  nothing,  said  nothing  on  the  head  of  his  old  love 
affair,  and  trembled  with  apprehension  of  he  knew 
not  very  well  what.  A  path  of  flowers  stretched 
before  him,  but  a  shadow  walked  on  it,  a  tall,  hand- 
some shadow,  yet  unfriendly.  It  is  Mr.  Wogan's 
firm  belief,  based  on  experience,  that  a  woman  always 
finds  everything  out.  The  only  questions  are,  when, 
and  how  will  she  take  it?  Sometimes  it  is  a  letter  in 
the  pocket  of  an  old  coat  which  the  dear  charitable 
creature  is  giving  to  a  poor  devil  of  a  chairman. 
Sometimes  it  is  a  glance  at  a  rout,  which  she 
shoots  flying.  Now  it  is  a  trinket,  or  a  dead 
flower  in  a  book,  or  a  line  marked  in  a  poem,  but 
there  is  always  a  trail  of  the  past,  and  woman  never 
misses  it. 

George's  wooing  seemed  as  flowery  as  the  mead- 
ows about  Avignon,  white  with  fragrant  narcissus, 
or  as  the  gardens  purple  with  Judas  trees  in  spring. 
Rose  was  all  parfait  amour,  and,  in  her   eyes,  Mr. 


176  PARSON    KELLY 

Kelly  was  a  hero,  a  clerical  Montrose,  or  a  Dundee 
of  singular  piety.  Wogan  has  known  women  more 
zealous  for  the  Cause,  such  as  her  Grace  of  Buck- 
ingham, or  Madame  de  Mdzieres,  who  had  ever  a 
private  plot  of  her  own  running  through  the  legs  of 
our  schemes,  like  a  little  dog  at  a  rout,  and  tripping  us 
up.  To  Miss  Townley  George  was  the  Cause,  and 
the  Cause  was  George,  so  that,  in  truth,  she  was 
less    of  a  Jacobite  than  a  Georgite. 

There  never  had  been  such  a  George  as  hers  for 
dragons.  Why  did  he  fight  Mr.  Scrope?  She  was 
certain  it  was  all  for  the  Cause  !  Indeed,  that  casus 
belli,  as  the  lawyers  say,  proved  a  puzzle.  Why, 
in  fact,  did  the  Parson  come  to  be  lying  on  the  flags, 
in  receipt  of  a  sword-thrust  of  the  first  quality .'' 
George  was  the  last  man  to  brag  of  his  services,  but 
he  was  merely  obliged  to  put  the  sword-thrust  down 
to  his  credit  with  the  Cause.  His  enemy  had  been 
a  Whig,  a  dangerous  spy,  which  was  true,  but  not 
exactly  all  the  truth,  about  as  much  of  it  as  a  man 
finds  good   for  a  woman. 

Rose  clasped  her  hands,  raised  her  eyes  to  Heaven, 
and  wondered  that  it  did  not  better  protect  the 
Right.  What  other  deeds  of  arms  had  her  warrior 
done?  She  hung  on  George  imploring  him  to  speak 
of  deadly  'scapes,  and  of  everything  that  it  terrified 
her  to  hear.  Mr.  Kelly,  in  fact,  had  never  drawn 
sword  in  anger  before ;  he  was,  by  profession,  a  man 
of  peace  and  of  the  pen.  If  ever  he  indulged  a 
personal  ambition,  it  would  have  been  for  a  snug 
Irish  deanery,  and  he  communicated  to  Miss  Town- 
Icy  a  part  of  his  favourite  scheme,  for  leisure,  a  rose- 
hung  parsonage,  and  Tully,  his  Roman  friend. 


PARSON    KELLY  177 

But  the  girl  put  this  down  to  his  inveterate  modesty, 
remarked  by  all  Europe  in  his  countrymen. 

'  Nay,  I  know  you  have  done  more,'  she  said  one 
day  alone  with  him  in  a  bower  of  the  garden,  '  You 
have  done  something  very  brave  and  very  great, 
beyond  others.  You  helped  to  free  the  Queen  from 
the  Emperor's  prison  at  Innspruck!' 

'  I !  '  exclaimed  Mr.  Kelly  in  amazement.  *  What 
put  that  notion  into  the  prettiest  head  in  the  world? 
Why,  it  was  Nicholas's  brother  Charles,  with  other 
Irish  gentlemen,  Gaydon,  Misset,  and  O'Toole,  who 
did  that  feat ;  the  world  rings  of  it.  I  was  in  Paris 
at  that  time.' 

*  Then  you  did  something  greater  and  braver  yet, 
that  is  a  secret  for  State  reasons,  or  else,  why  does 
the  King  give  you  such  rich  presents?  ' 

Mr.  Kelly  blushed  as  red  as  the  flower  after  which 
his  lady  was  named. 

'  Now,'  he  thought,  '  how,  in  the  name  of  the  devil, 
did  she  hear  of  the  box  the  King  gave  me,  and  I  gave 
to  Lady  Oxford?' 

That  trinket  was  lying  on  Lady  Oxford's  table,  but 
the  face  behind  the  mirror  was  now  that  of  a  hand- 
somer man  than  either  his  Majesty,  or  Mr.  Kelly, 
or  Colonel  Montague.  Kelly  knew  nothing  about 
that,  but  he  blushed  beautifully  when  Miss  Townley 
spoke  of  a  rich  royal  present. 

*  You  blush,'  cried  the  girl,  before  he  could  find  an 

answer.     *  I    know  you  are  hiding  something,  now.' 

(And  here  she  added  to  his  pleasure  without  taking 

anything    from    his    confusion),    '  Tell    me    why  you 

blush  to    find    it   fame?' 

'Troth,  isn't  my  face  a  mirror,  and  reflects  your 

12 


1 78  PARSON    KELLY 

rosy  one,  my  Rose?'  answered  Mr.  Kelly,  putting  on 
a  great  deal  of  the  brogue,  to  make  her  laugh.  For, 
if  a  woman  laughs,  she  is  apt  to  lose  sight  of  her 
idea. 

'  I  must  be  told ;  I  cannot  trust  you  to  show  me 
how  brave  you  are.  * 

Mr,  Kelly  was  upon  dangerous  ground.  If  he 
was  expected  to  talk  about  the  box  given  by  the 
King,  and  if  Rose  wished  to  see,  or  to  know  what 
had  become  of  it,  Kelly  had  not  a  fable  ready,  and 
the  truth  he  could  not  tell.  He  made  a  lame 
explanation : 

'  Well,  then,  I  blushed,  if  I  did,  for  shame  that  the 
King  has  to  borrow  money  to  help  better  men  than 
me.' 

'  I  don't  care  if  he  borrowed  the  money  or  not,  for 
he  could  not  have  borrowed  for  a  better  purpose 
than  to  give  you  —  what  I  have  seen.' 

Mr.  Kelly  was  pale  enough  now.  What  in  the 
wide  world  had  she  seen?  Certainly  not  the  snuff- 
box. 

'Seen  in  a  dream,  my  dear;  sure  the  King  never 
gave  me  anything  but  my  little  pension.' 

'Then  you  know  other  kings,  for  who  else  give 
diamonds?  Ah,  you  are  caught!  You  have  the 
Queen's  portrait  set  with  diamonds.' 

'The  Queen's  portrait?'  cried  Kelly  in  perplexity. 
He  was  comforted  as  well  as  perplexed.  'Twas 
plain  that  Rose  knew  nothing  of  the  royal  snuff- 
box, now  the  spoil  of  Lady  Oxford's  spear  and  bow. 

'  Yes,'  cried  Rose.  '  Whose  portrait  but  the  Queen's 
should  it  be  that  lies  on  your  table?  So  beautiful 
a  lady  and  such  diamonds ! ' 


PARSON    KELLY  179 

Mr.  Kelly  groaned  in  spirit.  The  snuff-box  was 
not  near  so  dangerous  as  this  new  trail  that  Rose 
had  hit.  She  had  seen,  in  his  possession,  the  minia- 
ture of  Smilinda,  and  had  guessed  that  it  was  a 
royal  gift;  the  likeness  of  the  Princess  Clementina 
Sobieska,  who  had  but  lately  married  the  King. 

'  I  saw  it  lying  on  your  table  the  day  we  brought 
you  home  from  the  seat  on  the  boulevard,  when  we 
thought '  (here  Miss  Rose  hid  her  face  on  her  lover's 
shoulder,  and  her  voice  broke)  '  that  —  you  —  would 
—  die.' 

Now  was  this  rose  wet  with  a  shower,  and  when 
Kelly,  like  the  glorious  sun  in  heaven,  had  dried 
these  pretty  petals,  what  (Mr.  Wogan  puts  it  to  the 
casuists)  was  the  dear  man  to  say?  What  he  thought 
was  to  curse  Nick  for  holding  his  hand  when  he  was 
about   throwing  Smilinda's  picture  into  the   sea. 

What  he  said  was  that,  under  Heaven,  but  without 
great  personal  danger,  he  had  been  the  blessed 
means  of  detecting  and  defeating  a  wicked  Hanover- 
ian plot  to  kidnap  and  carry  off  from  Rome  the  dear 
little  Prince  of  Wales,  and  Mrs.  Hughes,  his  Welsh 
nurse.  This  prodigious  fable  George  based  on  one 
of  the  many  flying  stories  of  the  time.  It  satisfied 
Miss  Townley's  curiosity  (as,  indeed,  it  was  very  apt 
to  do)  and  George  gave  her  the  strictest  orders  never 
to  breathe  a  word  of  the  circumstance,  which  must 
be  reckoned  a  sacred  mystery  of  the  royal  family. 
He  also  remarked  that  the  portrait  flattered  her 
Majesty  (as  painters  will  do),  and  that,  though  ex- 
tremely pretty  and  gay,  she  had  not  that  air  of  dig- 
nity and  command,  nor  was  so  dark  a  beauty.  '  In 
fact,  my  dear,'  said  George,  *  you    might  wear  that 


I  So  PARSON    KELLY 

portrait  at  the  Elector's  Birth  Night  rout  (if  you 
could  fall  so  low)  and  few  people  would  be  much 
the  wiser.  These  Roman  painters  are  satisfied  with 
making  a  sitter  pretty  enough  to  please  her,  or  him.' 

George  was  driven  to  this  flagrant  incorrectness 
because,  though  Miss  Townley  had  not  yet  seen  the 
Queen's  portrait  (her  father  having  changed  sides) 
she  might  see  one  any  day,  and  find  Mr.  Kelly  out. 

The  girl  was  satisfied,  and  the  thing  went  by,  for 
the  time.  But,  on  later  occasions,  his  conscience 
gnawing  him,  the  good  George  very  unwisely  dropped 
out  general  hints  of  the  unworthiness  of  his  sex,  and 
of  himself  in  particular,  as  many  an  honest  fellow  has 
done.  In  Mr.  Wogan's  opinion,  bygones  ought 
to  be  bygones,  but  it  takes  two  to  that  bargain. 
Meanwhile  Miss  Rose  might  make  as  much  or  as 
little  of  her  lover's  penitences  as  she  chose,  and, 
indeed,  being  a  lass  of  gold,  with  a  sense  of  honour 
not  universal  in  her  sex,  and  perfectly  sure  of  him, 
she  made  nothing  whatever,  nor  thought  at  all  of  the 
matter. 

But  there  was  another  dragon  in  the  course  that 
never  yet  ran  smooth.  The  excellent  surgeon,  who 
had  not  recovered  the  fright  of  Preston,  was  obdurate. 
He  had  no  dislike  for  Mr.  Kelly,  but  a  very  great 
distaste  for  Mr.  Kelly's  Cause.  Rose  might  coax, 
the  Parson  might  argue,  Wogan  might  use  all  his 
blandishments — the  good  man  was  iron.  In  brief, 
Kelly  must  cease  to  serve  the  King,  or  cease  to  hope 
for  Rose.  This  was  a  hard  choice,  for  indeed  Mr. 
Kelly  could  not  in  honour  leave  hold  of  the  threads 
of  the  plot  which  were  then  in  his  hands. 

So  much  Dr.  Townley  was  at  last  brought  to  ac- 


PARSON    KELLY  i8i 

knowledge,  and  thereupon  a  compromise  was  come 
to.  Mr.  Kelly  was  to  go  over  to  England  once  again, 
on  the  last  chance.  The  blow  was  to  be  struck  in 
this  spring  of  the  year  1722.  If  it  failed,  or  could 
not  be  struck,  Mr.  Kelly  was  to  withdraw  from  the 
King's  affairs  and  earn  his  living  by  writing  for  the 
booksellers,  and  instructing  youth. 

The  Parson  was  the  more  ready  to  agree  to  this 
delay,  because  of  a  circumstance  with  which  he  was 
now  acquainted.  The  Doctor  and  his  daughter  were 
themselves  on  the  point  of  returning  to  England. 
Mr.  Kelly  and  Rose  had  no  great  difficulty  in  per- 
suading the  surgeon  that  he  would  find  it  more  con- 
venient to  live  in  London  than  in  the  country,  of  the 
miseries  of  which  they  drew  a  very  pathetic  and  con- 
vincing picture ;  and  so,  being  assured  that  the  delay 
would  not  mean  a  complete  separation,  they  accepted 
the  plan  and  fell  to  mapping  out  their  lives. 

They  chose  the  sort  of  house  they  would  live  in 
and  where,  whether  in  Paris  or  in  England :  they 
furnished  it  from  roof  to  cellar. 

'  There  must  be  a  room  for  Nick,'  said  the  Parson, 
*  so  that  he  can  come  in  and  out  as  if  to  his  own 
house.' 

Mr.  Wogan  had  borne  his  part  in  persuading  Dr. 
Townley,  without  a  thought  of  the  great  change 
which  the  Parson's  marriage  meant  for  him.  But 
these  words,  and  the  girl's  assent,  and  above  all  a 
certain  unconscious  patronage  in  their  voices,  struck 
the  truth  into  him  with  something  of  a  shock. 

Mr.  Wogan  escaped  from  the  room,  and  walked 
about  in  the  garden.  These  two  men,  you  are  to 
understand,  had  been  boys  together,  George  being  by 


1 82  PARSON   KELLY 

some  years  the  older,  and  had  quarrelled  and  fought 
and  made  friends  again  twenty  times  in  a  day.  Mr. 
Kelly  bore,  and  would  bear  till  his  dying  day,  a  little 
scar  on  his  cheek  close  to  his  ear,  where  he  was  hit 
by  a  mallet  which  VVogan  heaved  at  him  one  day 
that  he  was  vexed.  Wogan  never  noticed  that  scar 
but  a  certain  pleasurable  tenderness  came  over  him. 
His  friendship  with  the  Parson  had  been,  as  it  were, 
the  heart  of  his  boyhood.  And  in  after  years  it  had 
waxed  rather  than  diminished.  The  pair  of  them 
could  sit  one  on  each  side  of  a  fire  in  perfect  silence 
for  an  hour  together,  and  yet  converse  intelligibly  to 
each  other  all  the  while.  Well,  here  was  Mr.  VVogan 
alone  in  the  darkness  of  the  little  garden  at  Avignon 
now.  The  Rhone  looked  very  cold  beneath  the  stars, 
and  the  fields  entirely  desolate  and  cheerless.  Yet 
he  gazed  that  way  persistently,  for  if  he  turned  his 
head  toward  the  house  he  saw  a  bright  window 
across  which  the  curtains  were  not  drawn,  and  a 
girl's  fair  hair  shining  gold  against  a  man's  black  peri- 
wig. Mr.  Wogan  had  enough  sense  to  strangle  his 
jealousy  that  night,  and  was  heartily  ashamed  of  it 
the  next  morning  when  he  bade  the  couple  good-bye 
and  set  out  for  Paris. 

Mr.  Kelly  took  his  leave  a  few  days  later,  being 
now  sufficiently  recovered  to  travel.  The  precise 
date  was  the  eighth  of  April.  To  part  from  Rose 
you  may  well  believe  was  a  totally  different  matter 
from  his  adieus  to  Smilinda.  Nothing  would  serve 
the  poor  girl,  who  had  no  miniature  and  diamonds  to 
give,  but  to  sacrifice  what  she  prized  most  in  the 
world  after  her  father  and  her  lover. 

*  You  cannot  take  me,'  she  said  with  a  tearful  little 


PARSON    KELLY  183 

laugh,  *  but  you  shall  take  Harlequin,  who  made  us 
acquainted.  That  way  you  will  not  be  altogether 
alone.' 

Harlequin  wagged  his  tail,  and  sat  up  on  his  hind 
legs  as  though  he  thoroughly  approved  of  the  pro- 
posal, and  Mr.  Kelly,  to  whom  the  poodle  could  not 
but  be  an  inconvenience,  had  not  the  heart  to  refuse 
the  gift. 

George  had  to  give  as  well  as  to  take,  and  felt  even 
less  blessed  in  giving  than  in  receiving.  For  Miss 
Rose  must  have  a  souvenir  of  him,  too,  and  what 
should  it  be  but  that  inestimable  testimony  to  her 
lover's  loyalty  and  courage,  the  Portrait  of  the  Queen  ! 
There  was  no  way  of  escape,  and  thus,  as  a  memorial 
of  Mr.  Kelly's  singular  attachment  to  the  best  of 
Causes  and  of  Queens,  Miss  Townley  was  treasuring 
the  likeness  of  the  incomparable  Smilinda.  The 
ladies,  in  the  nature  of  things,  could  never  meet, 
George  reckoned,  for  the  daughter  of  the  exiled 
country  physician  would  not  appear  among  the 
London  fashionables. 

In  Paris,  on  his  road  to  London,  Mr.  Kelly  visited 
the  Duke  of  Mar,  who  most  unfortunately  took  notice 
of  the  dog,  and  asked  him  what  he  purposed  to  do 
with  it. 

'  My  Lord,'  replied  Kelly,  '  when  I  am  on  my 
jaunts  Harlequin  will  find  a  home  with  the  Bishop  of 
Rochester,  whose  wife  has  a  great  liking  for  dogs. 
The  poor  lady  is  ill,  and,  alas,  near  to  her  death; 
the  Bishop  is  fretting  under  the  gout,  and  his  wife's 
sickness,  and  the  jealousies  among  the  King's  friends. 
Moreover,  he  is  much  occupied  with  building  his 
tomb  in  the  Abbey,  so  that,  altogether,  their  house  is 


i84  PARSON   KELLY 

of  the  gloomiest,  and  Harlequin  may  do  something 
to  lighten  it.' 

For  the  poodle  had  more  accomplishments  than 
any  dog  that  ever  the  Parson  had  met  with,  and  this 
he  demonstrated  to  the  Duke  of  Mar  by  putting  him 
through  his  tricks.  The  Duke  laughed  heartily,  and 
commended  the  Parson's  kindliness  towards  his 
patron.  But  in  truth  the  Parson  never  did  a  worse 
day's  work  in  the  whole  of  his  life. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

OF  THE   GREAT  CONFUSION   PRODUCED   BY  A  BALLAD 
AND   A   DRUNKEN   CROW 

FROM  this  time  until  Saturday,  May  19,  the 
world  seemed  to  go  very  well  for  those  con- 
cerned in  the  Bishop  of  Rochester's  plot,  which  was 
a  waiting  plot ;  and  in  the  other  scheme,  the  scheme 
for  an  immediate  rising,  which  was  a  hurrying  scheme, 
and  not  at  all  known  to  the  good  Bishop.  There  was 
a  comforting  air  of  discontent  abroad ;  the  losses 
from  the  South  Sea  made  minds  heavy  and  purses 
light.  Mr,  Walpole  had  smoked  nothing  of  what 
was  forward,  so  far  as  a  man  could  see ;  and  within 
a  month  the  country  was  to  rise.  Mr.  Wogan  from 
Paris  travelled  to  Havre-de-Grace,  whence  James 
Roche,  an  Irishman,  settled  in  that  port,  and  a  noted 
smuggler  upon  the  English  coast,  set  him  across  the 
Channel,  and  put  him  ashore  at  the  Three  Sheds  and 
Torbay  near  Elephant  Stairs  in  Rotherhithe.  Mr. 
Wogan  took  his  old  name  of  Hilton,  and  went  about 
his  business,  paying  a  visit  now  and  again  to  the 
Cocoa  Tree,  where  amongst  other  gossip  he  heard  that 
Lady  Oxford  was  still  on  the  worst  of  friendly  terms 
with  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  and  the  best  of 
loving  terms  with  Colonel  Montague.  There  was  more 
than  one  jest  aimed  at  Mr.  Kelly  on  this  last  account. 


1 86  PARSON    KELLY 

since  a  man  who  has  been  fooled  by  a  woman  is  ever 
a  fair  mark  for  ridicule;  and  when  James  Talbot 
began  to  talk  of  the  Parson  with  a  mock  pity,  Wogan 
could  no  longer  endure  it. 

'  Sure  your  compassion  is  all  pure  waste,  Crow,' 
said  he.  '  I  could  tell  you  a  very  pretty  tale  about 
the  Parson  were  I  so  minded.' 

Of  course  he  was  minded,  and  he  told  the  story  of 
the  Parson's  betrothal  with  a  good  many  embellish- 
ments. He  drew  so  tender  a  picture  of  Rose,  that 
he  became  near  to  weeping  over  it  himself;  he 
clothed  her  in  high  qualities  as  in  a  shining  garment, 
and  you  may  be  sure  he  did  not  spare  Lady  Oxford  in 
the  comparison.  On  the  contrary,  he  came  very  near 
to  hinting  that  it  was  the  Parson  jilted  Lady  Oxford, 
who  therefore  fell  back  upon  Colonel  Montague  to 
cover  her  discomfiture.  At  all  events  that  was  the 
story  which  soon  got  about,  and  Mr.  Wogan  never 
said  a  word  to  correct  it,  and  in  due  time,  of  course, 
and  in  a  way  not  very  agreeable,  it  came  to  her  Lady- 
ship's ears. 

The  Parson  arrived  in  London  on  a  Wednesday, 
the  13th  of  April.  The  weather  had  been  terrible 
on  the  sea,  and  the  unhappy  dog  Harlequin  had  con- 
trived to  slip  his  leg  by  a  fall  on  deck.  However,  he 
soon  recovered  of  his  injury,  thanks  to  the  care  of 
Mrs.  Barnes,  and  Mr.  Kelly  carried  him  to  the 
Bishop's  house  at  Bromley,  where  his  lady  lay 
a-dying.  There,  too,  as  he  had  good  cause  after- 
wards to  remember,  he  wrote  certain  letters  for  the 
Bishop,  to  the  King,  the  Duke  of  Mar,  and  General 
Dillon,  and  put  them  in  the  common  post.  They 
did  but  carry  common  news,  and  excuses  for  delay. 


PARSON    KELLY  187 

The  Bishop's  lady  died  on  the  26th  of  April,  and  on 
that  very  day  Harlequin's  hurt  broke  out  again,  and 
the  poor  creature  went  whining  lugubriously  about 
the  gloomy  house,  as  though  it  was  mourning  for  its 
mistress.  This  fact  should  be  mentioned,  because 
the  Duke  of  Mar  had  made  an  inquiry  in  a  letter  as 
to  how  Harlequin  fared,  and  whether  Mr.  Illington, 
as  the  Bishop  was  called,  had  as  yet  received  the 
dog.  Kelly  replied  that  '  Illingtoii  is  in  great  tribu- 
lation for  poor  Harlequin,  who  is  in  a  bad  way,  hav- 
ing slipped  his  leg  again,'  which  was  true,  for  since 
the  dog  by  his  tricks  greatly  lightened  his  lady's 
sickness,  the  Bishop  grew  very  fond  of  him,  though 
at  the  Bishop's  trial,  when  these  things  were  brought 
up  to  prove  that  Illington  and  he  were  the  same  man, 
it  was  said  '  he  never  loved  a  dog.'  So  much  for  Mr. 
Kelly. 

Rose  and  her  father  reached  London  a  fortnight  or 
more  after  the  Parson.  Wogan  had  no  knowledge  of 
her  arrival,  for  since  he  left  Avignon  he  had  not 
so  much  as  clapped  his  eyes  upon  the  Parson,  who, 
what  with  the  Bishop's  grief  for  his  wife,  and  what 
with  the  Bishop's  gout,  was  much  occupied  at  Brom- 
ley. It  was  not  until  that  calamitous  day,  the  19th 
of  May,  that  the  two  friends  met  again.  Events 
moved  very  quickly  upon  that  same  day.  It  seemed 
they  had  been  hatching  this  long  while  out  of  sight, 
like  thunderclouds  gathering  on  a  clear  day  under 
the  rim  of  the  sea.  Seven  breathless  hours  saw  the 
beginning  and  the  end.  For  it  was  not  until  six 
o'clock  of  the  afternoon  that  Mr.  Wogan  chanced 
upon  the  ballad,  that  was  our  ruin,  and  by  three  of 
the  morning  all  was  over. 


1 88  PARSON    KELLY 

Now,  on  the  19th  of  May,  in  the  morning,  Mr. 
Wogan  found  himself  far  enough  from  London,  at 
the  seat  of  Sir  Harry  Goring,  a  gentleman  of  Sussex, 
and  a  very  loud  friend  of  the  Cause. 

This  noisy  Sir  Harry  drove  Mr.  Wogan  back  to 
town,  in  very  great  state  and  splendour,  and  drew 
up  before  Burton's  coffee-house,  at  an  hour  when 
the  streets  had  lost  the  high  sun  of  the  day.  Mr. 
Wogan  alighted,  thinking  to  seek  his  letters  at 
Burton's,  and  the  baronet's  carriage  rolled  off  to  his 
town  house.  Wogan  entered  the  coffee-house ;  the 
great  room  was  extraordinary  full,  and  there  was  an 
eager  buzz  of  talkers,  who  dropped  their  voices,  and 
looked  oddly  at  Mr.  Wogan  as  he  passed  through, 
and  so  upstairs  to  a  little  chamber  kept  private  for 
himself  and  his  friends. 

As  he  went  he  heard  roars  of  laughter,  and  a  voice 
chanting  in  the  deplorable,  lamenting  tone  of  the 
street  ballad-singer.  Mr.  Wogan  caught  a  name  he 
knew  in  this  ditty,  and  knocking  hastily  in  the 
manner  usual  and  arranged,  was  admitted.  The 
room  was  thick  with  tobacco  smoke,  and  half-a 
dozen  empty  bottles  made  mantraps  on  the  floor. 
Through  the  Virginia  haze  Wogan  saw  two  men ; 
one  was  Tyrell,  a  friend  of  the  Cause,  the  other 
was  a  tall  man,  very  black,  in  whom  he  recognised 
his  friend  Talbot,  of  his  own  country  and  politics, 
nicknamed  the  Crow  from  his  appearance.  The 
Crow  was  swaying  on  his  legs  as  he  steadied  him- 
self by  the  table,  and  he  sang  :  — 

Let  Weapons  yield  them  to  the  Gown, 

The  Latin  Singers  say  : 
Ye  Squires  and  Ladies  of  renown, 


PARSON    KELLY  189 

The  tune  is  changed  to-day  ! 
A  Lady  loved  a  Parson  good, 

And  vowed  she  'd  still  be  true, 
Alas,  the  Sword  goes  o'er  the  Hood, 

The  Sword  of  Montague  ! 

'What  ribaldry  have  you  got  now? 'said  Wogan, 
but  the  Crow  hastily  embraced  him  in  the  French 
manner,  holding  the  paper  of  the  ballad  over  his 
shoulder,  and  still  chanting. 

'  The  little  Parson  is  made  immortal,'  quoth  he. 
*  Here  is  the  newest  ballad,  all  the  story  of  his  late 
amorous  misfortune.     Why  do  you  look  so  glum? ' 

For  Wogan  had  gently  disengaged  himself  from 
Mr.  Talbot's  embrace,  who  exhaled  a  perfume  of  wine 
and  strong  waters. 

'  Crow,  you  fool,  be  quiet,'  said  Wogan ;  *  this  is 
miching  mallecho  !     Who  wrote  that  rant?  ' 

'  We  think  it  is  Lady  Mary  Montagu,  from  the 
Latin  tags;   it  is  headed  Cedat  Armis  Toga.' 

But  Lady  Mary  was  not  the  writer,  though  she 
got  the  credit  of  the  mischievous  nonsense,  as  was 
intended,  and  '  hence  these  tears,'  as  the  Parson  said. 

Mr.  Wogan  had  snatched  the  ballad  into  his  hands 
by  this  time,  where  he  intended  to  keep  it. 

'  Gentlemen,'  he  asked,  *  are  you  entirely  sober?  ' 

*  Does  my  speech  betray  me?  '  said  Tyrell,  who,  to 
do  him  justice,  was  wholly  in  his  right  mind. 

'  That  is  no  answer ;  but,  if  it  were,  and  if  you 
don't  care  for  a  lady's  name  —  ' 

'  She  jilted  the  Parson !  '  cried  the  Crow. 

'  Have  you  no  thought  of  the  reputation  of  —  Mr. 
Farmer?  ' 

'Mr.    Farmer?'    exclaimed    Tyrell.     Mr.    Farmer 


I90  PARSON    KELLY 

was  the  cant  name  for  the  Chevalier,  and  Tyrell 
scratched  his  head,  wondering  what  on  earth  the 
Chevaher  had  to  do  in  the  same  galley  with  the 
Parson's  love  affairs. 

'  Mr.  Farmer  ! '  replied  the  Crow,  blinking  his  eyes 
reproachfully.  '  Indeed,  it  is  yourself  has  been  drink- 
ing, Nick.  What  has  the  ballad  of  poor  George's 
misfortune  to  do  with  Mr.  Farmer,  a  gentleman  of 
unbleb  —  upblem  —  I  repeat,  sir,'  said  the  Crow  with 
solemnity,  '  a  gentleman  of  unblemished  reputation?  ' 

'  Mark  how  a  long  word  trips  you  up,  and  the 
evening  so  young  ! ' 

'  Mr.  Farmer's  health  !  I  buzz  the  bottle  !  '  cried 
the  Crow,  putting  out  his  hand  to  the  bottle,  that  was 
nearly  empty. 

Mr.  Wogan  stopped  his  hand. 

'  I  tell  you.  Crow,  the  Affair  hangs  on  your  non- 
sense. We  may  all  hang  for  it,'  he  said  in  a  certain 
tone  of  voice,  which  made  Tyrell  open  his  mouth. 

Wogan  read  through  the  ballad,  which  was  full  of 
insults  enough  to  drive  any  woman  mad,  let  alone 
Lady  Oxford.  He  knew  what  a  woman  wild  with 
anger  can  do,  and  blessed  his  stars  that  for  so  many 
months  her  Ladyship  had  not  met  Kelly,  and  could 
know  nothing  of  the  inner  plot  for  an  immediate 
rising.  Still,  she  knew  enough  to  do  a  power  of 
mischief.  The  ballad  was  written  in  a  feigned  hand, 
which  Wogan  did  not  know. 

'  James,'  he  said  to  Talbot,  '  where  did  you  get  this 
thing?  You  are  not  haunting  the  fine  ladies  who 
pass  these  wares  about?  Where  did  you  get  it?  '  he 
said,  shaking  the  Crow,  who  had  fallen  half  asleep,  as 
he  spoke. 


PARSON    KELLY  191 

'  Got  it  from  my  friend  Mr.  Pope,'  answered  the 
Crow  drowsily. 

*  You  got  it  from  Mr,  Pope !  Yoii,  !  Where  did 
you  meet  Mr.   Pope?' 

'At  the  Little  Fox  under  the  Hill,  down  by  the 
water.' 

This  tavern  was  precisely  the  shyest  meeting-place 
of  the  party,  where  the  smugglers  came  to  arrange 
crossings  and  receive  letters. 

*  Mr.  Alexander  Pope  at  the  Fox  under  the  Hill ! 
Crow,  you  are  raving !  What  kind  of  man  is  your 
friend  Mr.  Pope?' 

'Who's  Mr.  Pope?  Don't  know  the  gentleman. 
Hear  he  's  poet' 

'  The  gentleman  who  gave  you  the  ballad.' 

'  Did  n't  say  Pope,  said  Scrotton,'  answered  the 
Crow.  '  Very  honest  man,  my  friend  Mr.  Scrotton. 
Met  him  often.  Exshlent  judge  of  wine,  Mr.  Scrot- 
ton. Exshlent  judge  of  plots.  Mr.  Scrotton  ap- 
plauded our  scheme.' 

'You  told  him  about  it?  What  plot  did  you  tell 
him  of?  Not  of  the  rising?  Not  of  this  immediate 
Blow?     Crov/,  you  should  be  shot!  ' 

*  I  told  him  !  You  inshult  me,  sir.  Very  good  plot, 
very  good  wine.  Mr.  Scrotton  told  me  about  plot. 
Often  talked  it  over  a  bottle.  I  'm  a  most  cautious 
man.  I  don't  drink  except  with  very  honest  men. 
Dangerous  !  '  murmured  the  Crow. 

'  You  are  sure  his  name  is  Scrotton? ' 

*  Quite  certain.  Said  "  Pope  "  because  of  poetry. 
Soshiation  of  ideas.  Mr,  Pope's  poet.  You'd  know 
that,  but  you  are  drunk,  Mr.  Wogan.' 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  got  out  of  the  Crow. 


192  PARSON    KELLY 

Invited  to  give  a  personal  description  of  Mr.  Scrotton, 
he  fell  back  on  his  moral  character  as  '  a  very  honest 
man.'  He  might  be,  or,  again,  he  might  be  a  spy. 
In  any  case,  here  was  the  ballad,  and  there  was  the 
furious  woman  ready  for  any  revenge. 

'  Go  home  ;  go  to  bed !  Tyrell  and  I  will  walk 
with  you  to  your  rooms/  said  Mr.  Wogan,  who,  step- 
ping to  the  letter-rack,  picked  up  an  epistle  for  Mr. 
Hilton.  The  handwriting  of  the  superscription  made 
him  look  so  blank  that  the  others  noticed  his  face 
and  were  silent.  The  letter  was  in  Lady  Oxford's 
hand.     He  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

They  led  the  Crow  to  his  door  in  Germain  Street. 
He  behaved  pretty  well  on  the  whole,  only  insisting 
that  his  fortune  would  be  made  if  Wogan  would  but 
give  him  the  ballad  and  let  him  sing  it  at  the  corner 
of  St.  James's. 

'Affluence  would  be  mine,'  he  said,  and  dropped  a 
tear.  'Oh,  Wilton  —  Hogan,  I  would  say  —  'tis  a 
golden  opportunity !  ' 

But  if  the  opportunity  was  golden,  Wogan  was  of 
iron,  and  they  did  not  leave  the  debased  Crow  till  he 
slept  in  the  sheets,  which  on  the  night  before  it  was 
probable  that  his  limbs  had  never  pressed. 

When  the  Crow  was  slumbering  like  a  babe,  Mr. 
Wogan  and  Tyrell  stepped  out,  turning  the  key  of  his 
chamber  on  the  outside  and  entrusting  it  to  his  landlady. 

'Mr.  Talbot  has  a  fever,'  Wogan  told  her,  '  and  will 
see  nobody.  He  must  on  no  account  see  anyone 
except  Mr.  Tyrell,  nor  must  he  be  disturbed  before 
his  physician  calls.' 

Accompanied  by  the  gift  of  a  crown,  the  key  was 
pocketed  by  the  woman  of  the  house,  who  expressed 


PARSON    KELLY  193 

anxiety  for  the  health  and  repose  of  so  quiet  a  gen- 
tleman as  Mr.  Talbot. 

'And  now,  what  is  all  this  pother  about?'  Tyrell 
asked  when  they  were  got  into  the  street. 

*  Come  towards  the  Park  and  I  will  instruct  you.  I 
need  quiet  for  thought,  and  sylvan  repose.  What 
have  you  been  doing  all  day?' 

'  Watching  the  Crow  play  the  fool  at  Burton's.' 

'You  have  no  news?' 

'  I  have  seen  nobody.' 

They  walked  for  a  hundred  yards  or  so  in  silence, 
Wogan  frowning,  and  Tyrell  much  perturbed  with 
Wogan's  perturbation. 

'  The  new  ballad  is  a  true  ballad,'  said  Wogan  after 
a  pause. 

*  Devil  a  doubt  of  it ;  but  what  then  ? ' 

'  The  greater  the  truth,  the  greater  the  libel.' 

'  Et  qprh? ' 

'  And  the  greater  is  the  rage  of  the  libelled.  This 
ballad  must  have  run  through  all  the  boudoirs  before 
it  reached  the  Crow.' 

'  And  yet  I  do  not  smoke  you.  Where  does  this 
touch  the  affair?' 

'The  lady  that's  libelled  knew  George  very  well.' 

Tyrell  nodded  his  head. 

'  George  knew  everything,'  continued  Wogan. 

Tyrell  stopped  and  caught  Wogan  by  the  elbow 

'Then,  what  George  knew  the  lady  knows?' 

'  No.  Thank  God,  she  knows  nothing  of  what  is 
immediately  intended.  It  is  a  year  and  more  since 
George  and  she  have  spoken.  She  knows  nothing 
of  the  Blow.  But  she  knows  the  men  who  are  direct- 
ing it.' 

13 


194  PARSON   KELLY 

*  May  be  she  's  staunch,'  said  Tyrell. 

VVogan  quoted  Lady  Mary: 

'  PoHtics  are  nothing  more  to  her  than  pawns  in  the 
game  of  love.' 

The  two  men  stood  looking  at  each  other  for  a 
moment.  The  matter  was  too  serious  for  them  even 
to  swear.     Then  they  walked  on  again. 

'  Do  you  think,'  asked  Nick,  '  she  will  be  in  the  best 
of  tempers  when  she  hears  she  is  sung  about  in  coffee- 
houses? Do  you  think  she  will  blame  anybody  but 
Kelly  for  blabbing?  She  will  give  the  ballad  to  Lady 
Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  and  is  n't  Kelly  of  Lady 
Mary's  friends?  No,  he  did  not  blab,  but  never  mind. 
She  will  think  he  did.  And  do  you  know  that  she  is 
a  kinswoman  of  the  minister,  Mr.  Walpole?  Let  her 
say  a  word,  and  she  will  say  it,  and  where  is  Mr. 
Farmer's  affair?' 

'Where  the  Elector's  hat  and  wig  often  are  —  in 
the  fire,'  answered  Tyrell,  looking  serious  enough. 

'That  letter  which  I  took  up  was  from  her;  I  know 
her  hand.     She  is  stirring.' 

Wogan  opened  the  scented  letter  as  he  walked.  It 
was  but  to  say  that  Lady  Oxford  had  heard  that  Mr. 
Hilton  was  in  town,  and  begged  the  favour  of  his 
company  at  her  rout  that  night. 

He  told  Tyrell  what  there  was  to  tell,  both  of  them 
looking  very  unlike  a  May  sunset  as  they  walked 
under  the  trees.  Since  he  left  Brampton  Bryan,  Mr. 
Wogan  had  not  been  favoured  with  any  compliments 
from  Lady  Oxford.  Why  did  she  begin  her  favours 
to-day? 

*  She  is  stirring,'  he  said  again. 

By  this  time  they  were  got  within  the  Park. 


PARSON    KELLY 


195 


There  much  was  stirring.  Carts  were  streaming  in 
and  out  with  soldiers  driving,  soldiers  lounging  among 
the  burdens  of  planks,  tents,  picks,  and  spades. 
Beside  the  Walnut  Walk  soldiers  in  their  shirt  sleeves 
were  digging,  trenching,  measuring;  a  child  could 
see  what  was  toward  —  they  were  meting  out  a  camp. 

Mr.  Wogan  looked  at  Mr.  Tyrell,  Mr.  Tyrell  looked 
at  Mr,  Wogan. 

'  The  lady  has  stirred,'  said  Tyrell  in  dismay. 
'And  what  is  more  she  knows  of  the  Blow.' 

'  Or  Mr.  Scrotton  is  not  a  very  honest  man,'  said 
Wogan,  and  whistled  "  Lilliburlero."  He  was  dis- 
posed on  the  whole  to  agree  with  Tyrell.  Somehow 
Lady  Oxford  had  got  news  of  the  inner  plot;  per- 
haps through  this  mysterious  Mr.  Scrotton. 

The  Walnut  Walk  was  all  astir  and  agape  with 
evening  loungers ;  it  hummed  with  gossip.  The  two 
gentlemen  went  to  the  Cake  House,  sat  down,  and 
called  for  glasses  of  ratafia.  Studying  the  face  of 
Mr.  Tyrell,  of  which  his  own  was  no  doubt  the  very 
likeness,  Mr.  Wogan  inferred  that  they  needed  this 
refreshment. 

They  listened,  with  conscious  grins  of  innocence, 
to  the  talk  at  the  tables,  being  a  little  comforted  to 
hear  many  questions,  but  no  certain  answers.  The 
soldiers,  it  seems,  being  asked,  could  or  would  give 
no  answer  but  that  they  had  orders  to  make  a  camp. 
Fair  ladies,  smiling  on  private  men,  could  get  no 
other  reply.  It  might  be  only  for  practice.  It 
might  be  that  the  French  were  expected.  Mr. 
Wogan  heartily  wished  that  they  were,  but  nobody 
was  expected,  so  far  as  he  knew,  save  these  same 
ragged  regiments  of  his  countrymen  with  the  Duke. 


196  PARSON    KELLY 

And,  lo !  a  welcome  was  being  got  ready  for  them. 
As  for  the  regiment  that  had  been  tampered  with  in 
the  Tower,  they  were  pitching  tents  in  the  Park. 
The  two  gentlemen,  who  had  been  conversing  on 
faro  and  Newmarket,  and  laying  each  other  fan- 
tastic odds,  arose  and  walked  eastwards. 

'  I  think  the  air  of  the  waterside  would  be  whole- 
some,' remarked  Mr.  Tyrell. 

'  I  have  to  see  a  friend,'  said  Mr.  Wogan,  and 
they  shook  hands  and  parted. 

'  You  will  warn  the  Crow  to  be  on  the  wing?  '  said 
Wogan  over  his  shoulder,  and  the  other  nodded. 
Mr.  Wogan  could  not  but  smile  to  think  of  the  Crow 
winging  an  unsteady  flight  across  the  Channel.  He 
managed  to  steer  across,  after  all,  thanks  to  Tyrell. 
Then  Wogan  read  Lady  Oxford's  billet  again,  and  he 
walked  to  Bury  Street. 

He  knocked,  and  the  door  was  opened  by  Mrs. 
Barnes. 

'  Mr.  Johnson  at  home?  ' 

'  It  would  appear,  Mr.  Hilton,  that  I  did  not  give 
satisfaction,'  said  Mrs.  Barnes,  whose  aspect  was  of 
a  severity. 

'  Give  satisfaction?  ' 

*  Mr.  Kelly  has  thought  to  better  himself,  and  if 
he  prefers  bed-fellows  such  as  shall  be  nameless,  and 
the  coals  disappearing,  and  his  letters  pryed  into, 
and  if  he  thinks  that  I  ever  mention  my  gentlemen's 
affairs  .  .  .    !  ' 

Here  Mrs.  Barnes  threw  her  apron  over  her  head, 
but  gulps  of  lamentation  escaped  aloud,  though  her 
emotion  was  veiled  like  that  of  the  Greek  gentleman 
in  the  picture. 


PARSON    KELLY  197 

Mr.  Wogan  was  not  unpractised  in  the  art  of  con- 
soling Mrs.  Barnes.  He  led  her  within,  she  was 
slowly  induced  to  unshroud  her  pleasing  features, 
and,  at  last,  revealed  the  strange  circumstance  that 
Kelly  had  left  her  rooms  two  days  before  without  giv- 
ing in  any  sound  justifying  plea  for  this  treason.  Mr. 
Wogan,  who  was  well  aware  of  Mrs.  Barnes's  curiosity 
and  the  fluency  of  her  tongue,  was  in  no  doubt  as 
to  the  cause  which  had  led  the  Parson  to  leave 
her,  and  thought  the  step  in  this  posture  of  their 
affairs  altogether  prudent. 

'But  he  will  return,'  he  reassured  her.  'What! 
—  you  know  Mr.  Johnson,  he  will  never  desert  you.' 

•'  So  he  said.  He  would  come  back  in  a  month, 
and  paid  in  advance  to  reserve  the  rooms,  but  it 
would  seem  that  I  do  not  give  satisfaction.  And 
here  's  all  his  letters  to  all  manner  of  names.  Look 
at  them  !  Look  at  them  !  And  how  many  of  them 
are  signed  Ugus?  Oh,  I  know  what  that  will  end  in, 
and  I'm  just  going  to  send  the  girl  round  with 
them  —  ' 

'  I  '11  carry  them  myself,  Mrs.  Barnes,'  said  Wogan, 
interrupting  her.  He  picked  up  the  letters  from  the 
table,  and  glanced  about  the  room,  if  by  chance  Mr. 
Kelly  had  left  anything  inconvenient  behind  him. 
But,  except  the  letters,  there  was  not  so  much  as  a 
scrap  of  paper  about  to  show  that  ever  he  had  lodged 
there.  Wogan  looked  at  the  scrutoire  on  which  the 
strong-box  he  had  given  to  his  friend  at  Paris  was 
used  to  rest.  It  had  held  Lady  Oxford's  letters  in 
the  old  days,  but  of  late  it  had  lain  unused,  and  the 
dust  had  gathered  thick  upon  the  lid,  so  that  in  his 
haste  the  Parson  might  well  have  forgotten  it.     But 


198  PARSON    KELLY 

he  had  carried  it  away,  and  with  it  his  big  Bible, 
which  had  stood  beside  it  in  such  an  incongruous 
juxtaposition. 

'  I  '11  carry  them  myself,'  said  Wogan,  and  putting 
the  letters  in  his  pocket  he  went  down  the  steps. 
He  marched  some  twenty  yards  down  the  street  and 
then  came  to  a  stop.  He  looked  round.  Mrs. 
Barnes  was  watching  him  from  the  doorway  with  as 
grim  a  smile  as  her  cheery  face  could  compass. 

'  But,  my  dear  woman,  where  will  I  carry  them 
to?  '  asks  Wogan,  coming  back. 

'  That's  it,'  cried  she  with  a  triumphant  toss  of  her 
head.  '  One  minute  Mrs.  Barnes  is  a  tattling, 
troublesome  woman,  and,  if  you  please,  we  '11  not 
take  so  much  trouble  as  to  say  good-bye  to  her,  and 
the  next  it's  Mrs.  Barnes  that  must  help  us,  and  tell 
us  where  we  are  to  go.  Mr.  Johnson  lodges  at  Mrs. 
Kilburne's  in  Ryder  Street.' 

*  Mrs.  Kilburne's  !  Why,  she  'syour  bosom  friend, 
Mrs.  Barnes.' 

Mr.  Wogan  was  a  trifle  surprised  that  the  Parson 
should  leave  Mrs.  Barnes  because  of  her  curiosity 
and  take  a  lodging  with  Mrs.  Barnes's  bosom  friend, 
who,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  no  less  of  a  gossip. 

'  Well,'  said  Mrs.  Barnes,  firing  up.  '  D'  ye  think 
I  would  let  him  go  to  those  I  know  nothing  of,  who 
would  rob  him  and  starve  him  of  his  last  crust  of  bread. 
No,  for  all  that  he  scorns  and  despises  me !  No,  he 
asked  me  where  he  should  go  and  I  told  him  to 
Mrs.  Kilburne.' 

'  Oh,  he  asked  you,'  said  Wogan.  *  Well,  it  is  a 
very  Irish  proceeding.  I  '11  go  to  Mrs.  Kilburne's 
and  find  him.' 


PARSON    KELLY  199 

'You  may  go  to  Mrs.  Kilburne,'  said  she  as  Wogan 
turned  away,  *  but  as  to  finding  him,'  and  she  shrugged 
her  shoulders. 

'  Why,  what  do  you  mean?  ' 

*  A  man  in  that  moppet's  hvery,  for  moppet  she  is, 
my  Lady  or  not  my  Lady,  brought  a  note  yesterday 
and  he  that  had  been  hiding  from  her,  hke  the 
honest  man  he  used  to  be  before  she  came  trapesing 
after  him.' 

'A  note?  Was  it  anything  hke  this?'  asked 
Wogan,  pulHng  from  his  pocket  his  own  invitation 
to  Lady  Oxford's  rout. 

'  It  was  very  Hke  that,'  said  Mrs.  Barnes.  '  I  sent 
the  fellow  on  with  the  scented  thing.' 

A  note  from  Lady  Oxford  to  George,  an  heroic 
epistle  from  Ariadne  to  Theseus !  An  invitation 
too !  Ariadne  invites  Theseus  to  her  rout,  and  for 
something  more,  conjectured  Wogan,  than  the  pleas- 
ure of  winning  his  money  at  cards.  Wogan's  anxiety 
concerning  Lady  Oxford's  attitude  was  much  in- 
creased. There  was  the  ballad,  the  camp  in  Hyde 
Park,  there  were  the  letters  of  invitation.  Mr.  Wogan 
thought  it  high  time  to  see  Theseus,  and  leaving 
Mrs.  Barnes  with  a  becoming  blush  on  her  features 
that  laughed  through  their  tears,  he  walked  to  Ryder 
Street. 

Mr.  Wogan  knocked  at  the  door  in  the  deepening 
dusk.  The  landlady  opened.  She  knew  Wogan, 
who,  indeed,  had  occupied  her  chambers  at  one  time. 
She  smiled  all  over  her  jolly  face : 

'  Mr.  Hilton  !  Taller  than  ever,  and  welcome  as 
ever.' 

'  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Kilburne,  I  shall  soon  rival  the 


200  PARSON    KELLY 

Monument,  but  I  can  still  get  under  your  lintel   by 
stooping.     Where  is  Mr.  Johnson?' 

'Mr.  Johnson?  Oh,  sir,  what  a  life  that  poor 
gentleman  lives.  Out  all  night,  home  in  the  morning 
with  mud  or  dust  on  him  to  the  shoulder,  and  so  to 
bed  all  day.' 

'Then  Mr.  Johnson  must  be  wakened.  I  can  do 
it,  were  he  one  of  the  seven  sleepers.  George ! ' 
cried  Mr.  Wogan,  lifting  up  his  voice. 

'  Oh,  sir,  be  quiet !  A  very  dainty  gentleman  has 
my  first  floor,  and  he  will  be  complaining  of  the 
noise.  You  always  were  that  noisy,  Mr.  Hilton ! ' 
She  walked  down  the  passage  as  she  spoke  and  threw 
open  a  door  upon  the  right.  '  Mr.  Johnson,  he  has 
my  ground  floor,  but  you  can't  waken  him,  loud  as 
you  are,  nor  any  man,  so  be  quiet,  Mr.  Hilton.' 

'Havel  to  weep  for  my  poor  friend's  decease?' 
asked  Wogan,  as  he  entered  the  room. 

'  No,  sir,  or  I  would  not  be  laughing  at  your  non- 
sense.' 

There  was  no  doubt  this  was  the  Parson's  lodging. 
For  as  Wogan  stood  just  within  the  door,  he  saw  by 
the  window  Mr.  Kelly's  scrutoire.  It  was  the  first 
thing  indeed  on  which  his  eyes  fell.  He  stepped 
across  the  room  and  threw  open  the  lid.  He  saw 
a  dispatch-box,  and  from  the  lock  he  knew  it  to  be 
that  in  which  Kelly  kept  safe  the  papers  of  the 
Bishop's  plot. 

'So  there's  another  lodger  in  the  house,'  said  Nick 
thoughtfully.  He  took  up  the  box  and  tried  the  lid. 
It  was  locked.  But  Mr.  Wogan  would  have  preferred 
that  the  Parson  should  have  kept  the  papers  in  the 
box  which  he  had  given  him  at  Paris,  of  which  the 


PARSON    KELLY  201 

lock  was  stouter.  That  box  he  saw  further  back  in 
the  scrutoire,  half  hidden  in  news-sheets.  But  that 
too  he  found  to  be  locked,  and  shaking  it  in  his 
hand,  was  aware  that,  like  the  other,  it  held  papers. 
The  lid  of  the  box  was  covered  with  dust,  as  though 
it  had  not  been  touched  for  months.  Lady  Oxford's 
letters  had  been  locked  up  there.  No  doubt  they 
were  there  still.  Mr.  Wogan  wondered  for  a  little  at 
the  strange  sentiment  which  m.akes  a  man  keep  such 
dead  tokens  of  a  dead  passion.  He  put  the  box 
back  amongst  the  news-sheets,  and  turning  to  Mrs. 
Kilburne, 

'  But  where  is  the  man?'  he  cried.  '  George  !  '  and 
he  rapped  on  the  table  with  his  cane. 

'You  can't  waken  Mr.  Johnson,'  said  Mrs.  Kilburne 
'  because  he  awoke  an  hour  ago,  and  dressed  in  a 
hurry,  but  braver  than  common,  with  his  silver-hilted 
sword,  Alengon  ruffles,  black  coat  and  satin  lining, 
silver  shoulder-knots,  and  best  buckles,  and  out  he 
goes.  He  was  summoned  by  a  man  in  the  livery  of 
my  Lord,  the  good  Bishop  of  Rochester.' 

'  Will  you  tell  him,  when  he  returns,  that  Mr. 
Hilton  waited  on  him,  and  greatly  desires  to  see  him 
in  his  best  before  he  goes  to  bed?  '  Wogan  pulled 
the  letters  from  his  pocket  and  laid  them  on  the  table 
which  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 

'  I  will,  sir,  but,  if  you  call  again,  pray,  sir,  be  very 
quiet.  My  first  floor  gentleman  is  such  a  dainty 
gentleman.' 

*  A  mouse  shall  be  noisy  in  comparison.  I  have  a 
great  tenderness,  Mrs.  Kilburne,  for  the  nerves  of 
fine   gentlemen.' 

Mrs.  Kilburne  grinned  in  a  sceptical  sort. 


202  PARSON    KELLY 

'  But,'  Wogan  added  suddenl}^,  '  it  is  very  like  I 
shall  fall  in  with  Mr.  Johnson  before  then.'  He  took 
some  half-a-dozen  of  the  letters  again  into  his  hand 
and  looked  them  over.  They  were  inscribed  to  such 
cant  names  as  IlHngton,  Hatfield,  Johnson,  Andrews, 
and  were  evidently  dangerous  merchandise.  Mr. 
Wogan  thought  they  would  be  safer  in  his  pocket 
than  on  Mr.  Kelly's  table.  He  picked  up  the  rest, 
but  as  he  put  them  back  into  his  pocket,  one  fell  on 
to  the  floor.  Wogan  caught  sight  of  the  handwriting 
as  it  fell.  Then  it  stared  up  at  him  from  the  floor. 
The  letter  was  written  in  a  woman's  hand,  which  Mr, 
Wogan  was  well  enough  acquainted  with,  although  it 
was  neither  Lady  Oxford's  nor  the  hand  of  Rose.  It 
was  in  the  handwriting  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Mon- 
tagu. Wogan  stooped  down  and  picked  it  up.  For  a 
letter,  it  was  extraordinary  light.  Wogan  weighed  it 
in  his  hand  for  a  second,  wondering  what  it  might  be. 
However,  there  was  no  answer  to  be  got  that  way, 
and  Mr.  Wogan  had  weightier  matter  to  engage  his 
thoughts.  He  put  it  into  his  pocket  and  marched  to 
his  own  lodgings,  which  were  hard  by  in  the  same 
street. 

Several  problems,  a  swarm  of  skirmishing  doubts, 
trooped  through  his  mind. 

'  What  did  my  Lady  Oxford  mean  by  writing  to 
Kelly?' 

To  this  Wogan  answered  that  she  meant  the  same 
thing  by  Kelly  as  by  himself,  and  for  some  reason 
had  bidden  him  to  her  rout.  As  to  her  motive  for 
that  act  of  unexpected  hospitality,  Wogan  had  his 
own  thoughts,  which  he  ^afterwards  confided  to  his 
friend.     '  But  who,'  he  pondered,  '  can  answer  for  a 


PARSON    KELLY 


203 


woman's  motives  when  the  devil  of  perversity  sits  at 
her  elbow? ' 

Next,  why  had  Kelly  made  himself  such  a  beau? 
It  could  not  be  merely  to  do  honour  to  a  mourning 
prelate  who  would  never  glance  at  his  secretary's 
satin  and  point  d'Alen^on. 

Mr.  Wogan  inferred  that  his  first  guess  was  right, 
that  Lady  Oxford  had  bidden  Kelly  to  her  rout,  and 
that,  by  the  token  of  his  raiment,  Mr.  Kelly  meant  to 
accept  the  invitation. 

Kelly  knew  nothing  of  the  camp,  and  the  discovery 
which  it  seemed  to  speak  of,  when  he  left  the  lodg- 
ings where  he  had  slept  all  day.  Of  the  ballad,  too, 
it  was  like  that  Kelly  knew  nothing,  and,  in  Wogan's 
opinion,  the  ballad  was  the  cause  of  the  military  stir. 
Lady  Oxford,  inflamed  with  anger,  blaming  Lady 
Mary  for  the  ballad,  and  blaming  Kelly  for  blab- 
bing her  fault  to  her  enemy,  Lady  Mary;  had 
doubtless  visited  Mr.  VValpole.  The  innocent  Kelly, 
innocent  of  all  these  things,  would  be  going  to 
Lady  Oxford's  to  fathom  the  causes  of  her  renewed 
friendship. 

Mr.  Wogan  puzzled  his  brains  over  these  matters 
while  he  supped  in  solitude  at  his  lodgings.  His 
friends  have  hinted  that  his  mental  furnishing  is  not 
in  a  concatenation  with  his  bodily  stature.  He  has 
answered  that,  if  it  were  so,  he  would  be  Shake- 
speare and  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  rolled  into  one. 
Though  refreshed  with  Burgundy,  his  head  felt  weary 
enough  when  he  turned  to  the  question,  '  What  was 
he,  Wogan,  to  do  next?  '  In  his  opinion,  the  boldest 
plan  is  ever  the  best;  moreover,  he  had  a  notion  that 
there  was  no  safer  place  in  London  for  him,  that  night, 


204  PARSON    KELLY 

and  perhaps  for  Mr.  Kelly,  than  Queen's  Square  in 
Westminster  which  Lady  Oxford  had  taken  for  a 
permanence.  For  if  Lady  Oxford  had  blabbed,  the 
last  place  in  London  where  the  Messengers  would  be 
like  to  look  for  the  Parson  was  her  ladyship's  with- 
drawing-room.  Unless  of  course  she  was  laying  a 
trap,  which  did  not  seem  likely.  In  the  face  of  this 
new  ballad,  Lady  Oxford  would  not  dare  to  have  the 
Parson  arrested  within,  or  even  near  her  house.  It 
would  provoke  too  great  a  scandal.  He  decided, 
therefore,  first  to  go  to  the  Dean's  house,  at  West- 
minster, where  the  Bishop  of  Rochester  stayed,  see 
Mr.  Kelly,  if  he  could,  and  unfold  his  parcel  of  black 
news.  Next,  he  would  take  Kelly  to  Lady  Oxford's, 
if  Kelly  would  come,  for  Wogan  not  only  deemed 
this  step  the  safest  of  his  dangers,  but  expected  to 
enjoy  a  certain  novelty  of  the  emotions,  in  which  he 
was  not  disappointed.  He  therefore,  imitating  the 
clerical  example,  began  to  decorate  himself  in  his 
most  seductive  shoulder  knots  to  do  honour  to  Lady 
Oxford. 

It  may  be  that  Wogan's  mind,  already  crowded  by 
a  number  of  occurrences  and  dubitations,  had  ex- 
hausted its  logical  powers,  for  there  was  one  idea 
which  should  liave  occurred  to  him  earliest,  and 
which  only  visited  him  while  he  was  shaving.  Who 
was  the  first  person  he  was  likely  to  encounter  at 
Lady  Oxford's?  Why,  the  very  last  person  whom 
at  this  juncture  it  was  convenient  for  him  to  meet  — 
namely,  Colonel  Montague.  Wogan  heartily  wished 
he  had  left  the  Colonel  between  two  fires  at  Preston 
barricade.  But  now  there  was  no  help  for  it,  go  he 
must.     The  Colonel,  like  other  people,  might  not  re- 


PARSON    KELLY  205 

member  the  boy  in  the  man  and  under  a  new  name, 
or,  if  he  did  —  and  then  a  fresh  idea  occurred  to 
Wogan  which  made  him  smile. 

'  I  was    born,'    he    said,   '  to    be    a   lightning    con- 
ductor! ' 


CHAPTER   XV 

AT  THE  DEANERY   OF   WESTMINSTER 

WOGAN  finished  the  work  of  adorning  his  per- 
son, and  stepped  into  the  street.  The  night 
was  serene,  with  a  full  moon,  the  air  still,  the  pave- 
ments were  clean  as  the  deck  of  his  ketch.  He 
thought  that  he  would  walk  from  his  rooms  to  the 
Dean's  by  way  of  St.  James's  Park,  and  consequently 
he  passed  through  Ryder  St.  and  in  front  of  Mr. 
Kelly's  new  lodgings.  Just  as  he  came  to  Mr. 
Kelly's  lodgings,  the  door  opened.  A  gentleman 
came  forth;  the  moonlight  was  full  on  his  face.  Mr. 
Wogan  muffled  his  face  in  his  cloak,  and  stepped 
stealthily  back. 

The  gentleman  was  Colonel  Montague.  He  bade 
the  chairmen  carry  him  to  Queen's  Square;  Mr. 
Wogan  heard  the  word  of  command  with  an  inex- 
pressible confusion  of  dismay.  He  had  hardened  his 
heart  to  encounter  the  enemy  whose  life,  in  a  youthful 
indiscretion,  he  had  saved  at  the  risk  of  his  own,  but 
what  was  the  Colonel  doing  in  Kelly's  lodgings? 

By  this  time  the  warrior  and  his  chair  had  turned 
the  corner,  and  Mr.  Wogan  abandoned  himself  to 
meditation.  Up  and  down  Ryder  Street  he  paced, 
puzzling  over  the  Colonel's  visit  to  Kelly,  whom,  at 
all  events,  he  could  not  have  found  at  home.     Was  he 


PARSON    KELLY  207 

carrying  a  cartel  to  his  predecessor  in  Lady  Oxford's 
heart?  In  that  case  it  was  all  the  more  necessary  to 
meet  him  and  play  the  part  of  Dr.  Franklin's  kite, 
which  had  not  at  that  time  been  flown,  but  is  now 
making  talk  enough  for  the  learned.  On  this  point 
Mr.  Wogan's  mind  was  constant.  Should  he  question 
Mrs.  Kilburne,  he  asked  himself  ?  Mr.  Wogan 
crossed  the  road.  But  the  Colonel  was  little  likely 
to  have  told  her  a  word  of  his  business.  Mr.  Wogan 
stopped. 

There  was  another  point:  for  whatever  reason  the 
Colonel  had  called  at  George's  lodgings,  George  must 
be  told  of  the  visit.  Here  was  something  which 
pressed,  without  question.  Mr.  Wogan  marched 
towards  the  Dean's  house  in  Westminster,  where  the 
Bishop  of  Rochester  lay.  He  knew  the  road  very 
well,  being  himself  an  old  Westminster  boy.  It  was 
but  seven  years  since  he  had  run  away  to  join  his 
brother  Charles  and  raise  the  North  for  King  James. 
He  could  not  tell,  at  this  moment,  whether  he  had 
deserted  his  studies  for  King  James's  sake,  or  to 
escape  his  dull  task  of  writing  out  my  Lord  Claren- 
don's weary  history  in  a  fair  hand. 

As  he  entered  the  precincts,  Wogan  felt  much  like 
a  truant  boy,  and  it  was  as  if  Time  had  stood  still 
while  he  ran.  Nothing  was  changed,  except  that  the 
new  dormitory,  which  Bishop  Atterbury  had  just 
built,  shone  white  among  the  black  old  stones. 
There  were  lights  in  the  windows  that  suddenly  went 
out:  the  lads  were  abed.  Wogan  looked  up  at  the 
blank  windows,  and  thought  of  seven  years  agone, 
and  of  his  life  since  then,  an  unprofitable  contem- 
plation, which  his  mind  gladly  deserted.    He  marched 


2o8  PARSON    KELLY 

up  under  the  arch,  through  the  darkling  cloister,  and 
tapped,  gently  but  firmly,  at  the  Dean's  door.  He 
must  see  Mr.  Kelly.  As  it  chanced,  and  by  the 
merest  accident  in  the  world,  Wogan  timed  his  taps 
thus:    I— 2,  3,  4,  5,  6  — 7. 

There  were  stealthy  steps  within,  with  a  movement 
of  yellow  light,  and  then  a  voice  that  Mr.  Wogan 
knew  very  well  came  through  a  judas. 

*  Is  it  my  father's  knock? ' 

*  Is  it  your  granny's  knock,  Sam?  '  asked  Wogan 
through  the  judas.  The  voice  was  that  of  Sam 
Wesley,  a  young  usher  in  Wogan's  time,  one  whom 
he  had  always  liked  and  tormented. 

The  steps  moved  away,  and  the  light. 

*  Sam !  '  whispered  Mr.  Wogan,  very  loud  for  a 
whisper,  through  the  judas.  'Sam,  you  remember 
me.     Nick  Wogan.' 

The  steps  were  silent. 

'  Sam,  remember  Lord  Clarendon  !  Remember 
Nick,  who  kicked  the  bully  for  beating  your  little 
brother  Jack.' 

The  steps  shuffled  back  to  the  door. 

'You  have  not  the  password,'  said  the  voice 
through  the  judas. 

'  Damn  the  password,'  whispered  Wogan.  '  I 
want  George  Kelly.  I  must  see  him  in  the  name  of 
the  Blackbird.     Hawks  are  abroad.' 

'  It  is  clean  against  all  rules,'  came  the  voice  from 
within. 

'  Open,  in  the  name  of  the  cobbler's  wax  I  once 
put  on  your  chair,  or  I  '11  break  the  windows.  You 
know  me,  Sam  !  ' 

Mr.  Wesley  knew  Mr.  Wogan.     He  undid  the  lock, 


PARSON    KELLY  205 

Mr.  Wogan  smuggled  himself  within,  and  nearly 
choked   Mr.  Wesley  in  his  embrace. 

'  It  is  a  giant !  '  said  Mr,  Wesley,  putting  up  his 
candle  to  Wogan's  face.  The  wind  blew  on  the  light 
that  flickered  in  the  absolute  darkness,  all  the  house 
being  hung  with  black  for  Mrs.  Atterbury's  death. 

'A  son  of  Anak,  Sam,  who  would  have  battered 
down  your  old  door  in  a  minute.' 

'  I  verily  believe  you  would,  Nick,'  said  Sam,  lead- 
ing the  way  up  the  black  stairs  to  a  den  of  his  own, 
where  he  was  within  call  of  the  Bishop.  On  tiptoe 
he  marched,  placing  his  finger  on  his  lips. 

When  they  were  got  among  Sam's  books  and 
papers  of  the  boys'  exercises,  the  usher  said,  '  It  is 
a  very  extraordinary  thing,  purely  a  Providence.' 

'I  deserve  one;  the  purity  of  my  life  deserves 
one,'  said  Mr.  Wogan.  '  But  wherein  do  you  see 
the  marvel?  ' 

'  You  did  not  know  it,  but  you  gave  my  father's 
knock,'  said  Sam  in  a  voice  of  awe.  *  It  is  Old 
Jeffrey's  doing  —  directed,  of  course  —  directed.' 

'Old  Jeffrey?  Is  it  a  cant  name  for  an  honest 
man?' 

*  For  a  very  honest  spirit,'  said  the  usher,  and  ex- 
plained to  Mr.  Wogan  that,  the  particular  knock  and 
the  passwords  to  follow  (which  Mr.  Wogan  did  not 
know)  were  his  own  invention.  His  father's  house 
at  Epworth,  in  the  year  1716,  had  been  troubled,  it 
seems,  by  an  honest  goblin  that  always  thumped 
and  routed  with  a  particular  malevolence  when  the 
Elector  was  prayed  for  as  '  the  King.'  Old  Mr. 
Wesley's  pet  knock,  though,  the  sprite  could  not 
deliver.     Mr.  Wesley  had  a  conceit  that  the   goblin 

14 


2IO  PARSON    KELLY 

might  be  the  ghost  of  some  good  fellow  who  died  at 
Preston. 

'  He  keeps  his  politics  in  the  next  world,'  said  Mr, 
Wogan. 

'  Wit  might  say  much  on  that  head,  wisdom  little,' 
whispered  the  usher,  wagging  his  kind  head.  '  You 
have  special  business  with  Mr.  Johnson?'  he  asked. 
'  He  is  with  my  Lord,  hard  by.  The  Bishop's  voice 
was  raised  when  Mr.  Johnson  entered.  I  caught 
angry  words,  but  now  for  long  they  have  been 
quiet.' 

'  Mr.  Johnson  has  a  way  with  him,'  said  Wogan, 
who  had  learned  from  Goring  that  the  reverend 
Father  in  God  was  of  a  hasty  temper.  '  How  doth 
his  Lordship?  ' 

'Very  badly.  I  never  saw  him  in  a  less  apostolic 
humour.  I  know  not  what  ill  news  he  has  had  from 
France,  or  elsewhere,  but  he  has  been  much  troubled 
about  Mr.  Johnson's  dog,  Harlequin.  The  poodle 
has  been  conveyed  out  of  town  as  craftily  as  if  he 
were  the  Chevalier,  I  know  not  why,  and  is  now 
skulking  in  the  country,  I  know  not  where.' 

It  was,  indeed,  Mr.  Wesley's  part  to  know  nothing. 
He  was  the  Bishop's  man,  and  as  honest  as  the  day, 
but  had  no  more  enterprise  than  another  usher. 

Wogan,  he  has  said,  knew  Harlequin,  second  of 
that  name,  and  had  seen  him  coddled  by  Mrs. 
Barnes.  He  was  cudgelling  his  brains  for  Harle- 
quin's part  in  the  Great  Affair,  when  a  silver  whistle 
sounded,  thin  and  clear. 

Mr.  Wesley  beckoned  to  Wogan  to  be  still,  crept 
out  of  the  room,  and  returned  on  tiptoe  with  Kelly. 
The  Parson's  elegant  dress  was  a  trifle  disarranged ; 


PARSON    KELLY  211 

his  face  and  hands  were  somewhat  stained  and  black- 
ened as  with  smoke,  but  the  careful  man  had  tucked 
up  his  Alencon  ruffles  beneath  his  sleeves.  On  see- 
ing Wogan  George  opened  his  eyes  and  his  mouth, 
but  spoke  never  a  word.  He  carried  a  soft  bundle 
wrapped  in  a  tablecloth,  and  when  the  door  was  shut 
he  handed  this  to  Mr.  Wesley. 

'You  have  the  key  of  the  Dean's  garden?'  he 
whispered. 

'  Yes  ;   but  wherefore?  '  answered  Sam. 

*  His  Lordship  bids  me  ask  you  to  have  the  kind- 
ness to  bury  the  contents  of  this  — ' 

*I  know  not  what  is  in  the  bundle,'  said  Mr. 
Wesley,  with  an  air  of  alarm. 

'  And  you  need  not  be  told,'  said  George.  *  But 
can  you  let  me  and  my  friend  Mr.  Hilton  —  ' 

'  Mr.  Hilton?'  gasped  Sam,  as  Kelly  put  his  hand 
out  to  Wogan. 

'I  must  present  you  to  Mr.  Hilton,'  George  said, 
and  Wogan  bowed  and  grinned. 

*  I  was  about  to  entreat  you,  Mr.  Wesley,  while 
you  are  playing  the  sexton,  to  permit  me  and  Mr. 
Hilton  the  convenience  of  a  few  moments  of  privacy 
in  your  chamber.' 

*  With  all  my  heart,'  said  the  puzzled  Sam,  hospi- 
tably opening  a  cupboard  in  his  bookcase,  whence 
he  lugged  out  glasses  and  a  bottle  of  Florence. 
Then  he  put  list  shoes  over  his  own,  and  stole  forth 
on  his  errand  like  a  clerical  cat. 

All  this  while  Wogan  had  said  not  one  word  to 
Kelly,  nor  Kelly  to  Wogan. 

Mr.  Wogan  had  sat  down  to  sample  the  bottle,  and 
Kelly  stared  at  him. 


212  PARSON    KELLY 

*  How  did  you  make  your  way  in  here?'  he  asked 
at  length. 

'  Old  Jeffrey,'  said  Wogan  airily.  '  I  drink  Old 
Jeffrey's  health,  wherever  he  is.' 

'  I  believe  you  are  the  devil  himself.  That  password 
is  known  to  no  mortal  but  Mr.  Wesley  and  me.  The 
Bishop  does  not  know  it.  His  servants  never  see 
me  come  or  go  —  only  Sam.  Whence  got  you  the 
word? ' 

Mr.  Wogan  very  gently  tapped  i — 2,  3,  4,  5,  6 — 7 
on  the  table. 

'  I  know  many  things,'  he  said.  '  But,  George, 
what  do  yoii  know  ?  ' 

'  I  know  you  should  be  aboard,  Nick,  and  down  to 
the  waterside  you  step  from  this  house.' 

*  I  am  already  promised,'  said  Mr.  Wogan  with  an 
air  of  fashion.     '  I  sup  with  Lady  Oxford.' 

'  You  are  mad.' 

'  Nay,  yoti  are  mad.  I  know  many  things.  When 
you  were  carried  hither  in  your  chair,  you  knew 
nothing.  George,  what  did  the  Bishop  tell  you? 
Why  was  he  wroth  with  you?  In  brief,  George,  what 
do  you  know? ' 

'  The  Bishop  angry  with  me  !  Nick,  you  know  too 
much.     You  are  the  devil.' 

'  I  want  to  know  a  great  deal  more.  Come,  un- 
pack, and  then  it  is  my  turn.  But  first  step  into  Mr. 
Wesley's  bedchamber  and  wash  these  hands,  which 
go  very  ill  with  silver  shoulder-knots ;  and  pour  the 
blackened  water  out  of  window.  Any  man  or 
messenger  could  see  that  you  have  been  burning  a 
mort  of  papers.' 

Mr.  Kelly  hastily  adopted  Mr.  Wogan's  precautions. 


PARSON    KELLY  213 

When  he  entered  the  room  again  the  conspirator  had 
vanished,  the  clerical  beau  remained. 

'Now,'  said  Wogan,  'you  are  fit  to  carry  out  your 
worldly  design  of  pleasure,  and  I  shall  not  be  ashamed 
to  sup  in  your  company  at  Lady  Oxford's.' 

'I  have  changed  my  mind;  I  shall  not  go.  But, 
Nick,  how  did  you  know  my  mind?  'Twas  the  last 
of  minds  you  expected  to  take  me  in.' 

*  I  am  the  devil.  Have  you  not  guessed  it  your- 
self? '  replied  Mr.  Wogan,  who  was  enjoying  himself 
hugely.  Perhaps  it  was  the  Florence,  coming  a-top 
of  the  Burgundy.  He  was  quite  easy  about  the  dis- 
covery. '  But  unpack,'  he  said.  '  What  befell  you 
with  the  Bishop? ' 

'  He  received  me  oddly.  The  room  was  as  dark  as 
a  wolf's  mouth,  being  hung  with  black  bombazine. 
There  was  a  low  fire  in  a  brazier,  that  shone  red  on 
his  Lordship's  polished  poll,  for  he  wore  no  perruque. 
His  eyes  blazed,  his  teeth  grinned  white.  I  was  put 
in  mind  of  a  fierce;  old  black  panther  in  the  French 
King's  gardens.' 

'  Remote  from  the  apostolic,'  said  Mr.  Wogan. 

*  So  were  his  first  words,'  said  Kelly: 

' "  You  Irish  dog,  come  here !  "  quoth  the  Bishop. 

'  I  offered  a  conjecture  that,  in  the  mournful  light, 
his  Lordship  did  not  precisely  see  whom  he  was  ad- 
dressing. On  that  the  little  old  man  sprang  out  at 
me,  seized  me  by  the  collar,  and  then  fell  back  on  his 
couch  with  a  groan  that  was  a  curse.  I  put  a  cordial 
that  stood  by  him  to  his  lips,  and  was  about  to  call 
Mr.  Wesley,  when  he  forbade  me  with  his  eyebrows, 
and  cried : 

'"  Answer  me  this  question  before  we  part  for  ever. 


214  PARSON    KELLY 

Did  you  despatch  my  letters  of  April  20  to  the  King 
and  the  others?  " 

*  "  My  Lord,"  I  said,  "  my  duty  to  you  ended  with 
that  episcopal  laying  on  of  hands,  and  with  that 
expression  which  you  were  pleased  to  use  when  I 
entered." 

*  He  groaned,  and  said : 

"'I  apologise.  I  am  mad  with  pain  "  (which  was 
plainly  true),  "  and  grief,  and  treachery.  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mr.  Kelly,  as  a  Christian  and  a  sick  old 
man." 

' "  My  Lord,  you  honour  me.  I  enclosed  the 
letters,  as  you  directed,  in  a  packet  addressed  to  Mr. 
Gordon,  the  banker  in  Boulogne,  and  I  sent  them  by 
the  common  post,  your  Lordship  not  having  forbidden 
the  ordinary  course." 

'"Then,  damn  it,  sir,  you  have  ruined  us!"  said 
the  sick  old  Christian.  "  Did  I  not  bid  you  write  to 
Dillon  that  nothing  of  importance  should  go  by  the 
post?" 

'  "  But  your  Lordship  did  not  seem  to  reckon  these 
letters  of  importance,  for  you  did  not  discharge  me 
from  sending  them  in  the  common  course." 

'  The  Bishop  groaned  again  more  than  once,  and 
there  was  a  whole  Commination  Service  in  the 
sounds.     You  know  Harlequin,  Wogan?' 

Mr.  Wogan  nodded  and    wondered. 

"Tis  Harlequin  has  ruined  us,'  said  Kelly;  'Harle- 
quin and  the  Duke  of  Mar.' 

*I  am  devilish  glad  to  hear  it,'  said  Mr.  Wogan. 

'  Glad  to  hear  it ! '  exclaimed  Kelly,  rising  from  his 
chair.  '  You  are  told  of  the  discovery  of  the  Great 
Affair,  and  the  probable  ruin  of  the  Cause,  and  th^ 


PARSON    KELLY  215 

danger  of  your  friends  and  yourself,  and  you  are  glad 
to  hear  it !  ' 

'  Faith,  I  am,'  replied  Wogan  easily,  '  for  I  knew  of 
the  discovery  before  you  told  me,  but  I  put  it  down 
to  a  lady  of  your  acquaintance.' 

The  Parson  very  slowly  sat  himself  down  again  on 
his  chair. 

'  In  Heaven's  name,  why?'  he  asked,  with  a  certain 

suspense. 

'Tell  your  tale  first,  then  I'll  tell  mine.  This  is 
very  excellent  Florence.' 

'The  tale  is  too  long,  but  the  short  of  it  is  this: 
The  Bishop  had  by  him  a  letter  of  Mar's,  dated  May 
II,  in  which  Mar,  addressing  the  Bishop  as  Illington, 
denounced  him  as  plainly  to  anyone  who  read  the 
piece  as  if  he  had  used  the  Bishop's  own  style  and 
title.  He  condoled  on  Mrs.  Illington's  recent  death, 
he  referred  to  Mr.  Illington's  high  place  in  the 
Church,  and  to  his  gout.  The  three  circumstances 
combined  left  no  doubt  as  to  who  Illington  is.  There 
was  no  need  such  a  letter  of  pure  compliment  should 
be  written  at  all,  except  for  the  purpose  of  being 
opened  in  the  post,  and  fixing  the  Bishop  as  Illington. 
Then,'  Kelly  went  on,  '  I  remembered  a  letter  of  Mar 
to  myself,  of  last  week,  in  which  he  spoke  of  the  dog 
Harlequin  as  Mrs.  Illington's.  If  these  letters  were 
opened  in  the  post,  —  and  the  Bishop  knows  for  certain 
that  they  were  opened,  —  a  blind  man  could  see  that 
Rochester  and  IlHni^ton  are  the  same  man,  and  own 
the  same  dog.  The  beast  saved  my  life,  but  he  has 
lost  the  Cause,'  said  Kelly  with  a  sigh.  '  Mar  has  sold 
us.  It  is  known  he  holds  a  pension  from  the  Elector. 
The  Bishop  knows  it  in  a  roundabout  way,  through 


2i6  PARSON    KELLY 

Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  and  so  the  Bishop 
and  I  have  burned  his  papers  in  the  brazier.  Sam  is 
interring  their  ashes  in  the  garden.' 

Mr.  Wogan  poured  out  another  glass  of  Florence. 

'  Was  there  anything  very  pressing  in  these  same 
letters  of  April  20,  George?  Was  there  anything  to 
put  fear  on  the  Elector's  Ministers?  Did  they  say, 
for  instance,  that  the  Blow  was  to  be  dealt,  you  and 
I  know  when?  ' 

*  Not  a  word  of  that,'  replied  Kelly,  and  his  face 
lightened.  On  the  other  hand,  Wogan's  fell,  which 
Kelly  no  doubt  remarked,  for  he  continued  eagerly, 
'  D'  ye  see,  there  is  a  chance  still,  for  the  Cause,  for 
us,  if  the  Blow  be  struck  quickly.  We  must  strike 
quickly.  So  may  we  retrieve  Mar's  treachery.  The 
Bishop  in  his  letter  made  excuses  to  the  King  for 
the  delay  of  any  blow.  He  is  not  in  favour  of 
anything  immediate,  and  in  the  letters  he  made  his 
disposition  plain.  The  letters  only  compromised  his 
Lordship  in  general,  they  did  not  reveal  —  the  Blow.' 

Mr.  Wogan,  however,  only  shook  his  head. 

'  'Faith,  now,  I  'm  sorry  to  hear  that,'  said  he. 

'  You  are  glad  and  sorry  on  very  strange  occasions,' 
said  Kelly,  sourly.  '  First  you  are  pleased  that  Mar 
sold  us,  and  then  you  are  displeased  that  he  did  not 
sell  the  last  secret.' 

Mr.  Wogan  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and 
bent  across  towards  his  friend. 

*  I  am  sorry  because  the  last  secret  has  been  sold, 
and  it  was  not  Mar  that  sold  it.  Therefore  some- 
body else  sold  it;  therefore  I  am  at  the  pain  of  being 
obliged  to  suspect  a  lady  who  probably  knows  her 
late  lover's  cypher,' 


PARSON    KELLY  217 

Mr.  Kelly  blanched. 

'  And  how  do  you  know  that  the  last  secret  is 
sold?' 

*  As  any  man  would  know  who  had  not  lain  abed 
all  the  day.  George,  the  Park  is  full  of  soldiers. 
The  Tower  regiment  that  we  thought  Layer  had 
bought  is  there  with  the  rest  under  canvas.  Min- 
isters would  not  make  an  encampment  in  the  Park 
because  they  knew  that  the  Bishop  had  advised  the 
King  that  nothing  was  to  be  done.  Therefore  Mar  is 
not  the  only  traitor.' 

'  And  why  should  my  Lady  Oxford  be  the 
Judas?' 

'  Mainly  to  punish  a  certain  nonjuring  clergyman, 
for  whose  sake  she  is   the   burden   of  a  ballad,   and 
sung  of  in  coffee-houses.' 
'A  ballad?     Of  what  sort?' 

'  Of  the  sort  that  makes  a  good  whipping-post  for 
a  fine  lady.  Ridicule  is  the  whip,  and,  by  the  Lord, 
it  is  laid  on  unsparingly.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to 
hear  it,'  and  Mr.  Wogan  recited,  in  a  whisper,  so 
much  of  the  poem  as  he  judged  proper.  It  closed 
thus : — 

'  Oh,  happy  ending  to  my  rhymes. 
Consoled  for  all  his  woes, 
The  Parson  flies  to  foreign  climes, 
And  dwells  —  beneath  the  Rose  ! ' 

Mr.  Kelly  swore  an  oath  and  took  a  turn  across 
the  room.  He  came  to  a  stop  in  front  of  Sam's 
bookcase.  *  Rose,'  said  he,  in  a  voice  of  tenderness, 
'  sure  they  might  have  left  the  little  girl  out  of  it.' 

*  The  barb  was  venomed,  you  see,'  said  Mr.  Wogan. 
*  It  was  not  enough  to  make  a  scofT  of  the  lady.     She 


21 8  PARSON   KELLY 

must  be  stripped  of  that  last  consolation,  the  belief 
that  the  discarded  Parson  wastes  in  despair.  Now 
she  knows  that  the  Parson  is  consoled.  There  was 
spark  to  powder.  The  Parson  may  be  putting  on 
flesh.  There  's  an  insult  to  her  beauty.  Faith,  but 
she  must  feel  it  in  her  marrow,  since  she  risks  her 
Lord's  neck  for  the  pleasure  of  requiting  it.' 

'  No,*  said  Kelly,  *  she  could  do  what  she  would, 
for  her  Lord's  neck  is  not  in  this  noose.  Oxford  had 
withdrawn  before.' 

This  was  news  to  Mr.  Wogan,  who  had  been  con- 
cerned only  with  the  actual  plan  of  attack,  and 
sufficiently  concerned  to  have  no  mind  for  other 
matters. 

'  Oxford  withdrawn,'  he  cried  rising  and  coming 
across  to  the  Parson.  '  Damn  him,  'twas  pure  folly 
to  trust  him.  Do  you  remember  what  Law  said  that 
night  in  Paris?  He  would  trust  him  no  further  than 
he  would  trust  a  Norfolk  attorney.' 

Kelly  was  silent  for  a  moment,  thoughtfully  draw- 
ing a  finger  to  and  fro  across  the  backs  of  Sam's 
books. 

'  I  have  good  reason  to  remember  that  night,'  he 
said  very  sadly.  'Have  3^ou  forgotten  what  I  said? 
"  May  nothing  come  between  the  Cause  and  me  !  " 
Why,  it  seems  the  Cause  goes  down  because  of  me, 
and  with  the  Cause  my  friends,  and  with  my  friends, 
Rose.' 

Mr.  Wogan  had  no  word  to  say.  Whatever 
excuses  rose  to  his  tongue  seemed  too  trivial  for 
utterance. 

Kelly's  finger  stopped  on  one  particular  book, 
travelled    away   and   came  back  to   it.     Wogan   saw 


PARSON    KELLY  219 

that  the  book  was  a  Bible.  The  Parson  took  it  from 
the  shelf  and  turning  over  the  leaves  read  a  line  here 
and  there.  Wogan  knew  very  well  what  was  passing 
through  his  mind.  His  thoughts  had  gone  back  to 
the  little  country  parsonage  and  the  quiet  life  with  no 
weightier  matter  to  disturb  it  than  the  trifling  squab- 
bles of  his  parish. 

*  You  warned  me,  Nick,'  he  said,  '  you  warned  me. 
But  I  was  a  fool  and  would  not  heed.  Read  that !  ' 
and  with  a  bitter  sort  of  laugh  he  handed  the  open 
Bible  to  Mr,  Wogan,  pointing  to  a  verse.  '  There  's 
a  text  for  the  preacher.' 

The  Bible  was  open  at  the  Book  of  Proverbs,  and 
Mr.  Wogan  read.  '  The  lips  of  a  strange  woman 
drop  as  a  honey-comb  and  her  mouth  is  smoother 
than  oil.  But  her  end  is  bitter  as  wormwood,  sharp 
as  a  two-edged  sword.  Her  feet  go  down  to  death. 
Her  steps  take  hold  on  hell.' 

Mr.  Wogan  read  the  text  aloud. 

*  The  strange  woman,  Nick,'  said  Kelly,  '  the 
strange  woman,'  and  then  in  a  fierce  outburst,  '  If  I 
live  the  man  who  wrote  that  ballad  shall  rue  it.' 

*  They  give  it  to  Lady  Mary.' 

*  She  never  wrote  it.  Nick,  who  wrote  the  ballad  ? 
How  did  you  get  hold  of  it?  ' 

'  I  found  the  Crow,  quite  tipsy,  singing  it  to  Tyrell, 
at  Burton's,  in  the  little  room  upstairs.' 

'  And  where  did  the  Crow  get  the  ballad?  ' 

*  That  is  another  uncomfortable  circumstance.  You 
know  Talbot  ?  ' 

'  An  honest  man,  and  a  good  officer,  at  Preston  or 
in  Spain,  but  a  sponge  for  drink.  A  pity  he  was 
ever  let  into  the  plot ! ' 


2  20  PARSON    KELLY 

'  Well,  he  got  the  ballad  from  someone  with  whom 
he  had  been  drinking  at  the  Little  Fox  under  the 
Hill,  not  a  fashionable  resort' 

'  Did  he  name  his  friend?' 

'  He  was  drunk  enough  to  begin  by  calling  him 
Mr.  Pope.' 

'  Mr.  Pope,  the  poet?' 

'  He  took  that  back;  and  said  the  poetry  put  Mr. 
Pope  into  his  head.  The  man's  real  name,  he  re- 
membered, was  Scrotton.  I  can't  guess  who  he  was, 
friend  or  spy,  but  we  may  take  it  that  he  knows 
what  the  Crow  knows.' 

'  Thank  God  for  that !  '  cried  Kelly. 

'You  rejoice  on  very  singular  occasions,  and  are 
grateful  for  very  small  mercies,'  said  Mr.  Wogan,  who 
found  it  his  turn  to  be  surprised.  '  What  are  you  so 
thankful  for?  ' 

'  Thankful  that  a  woman  need  not  have  done  this 
thing,  and  that  my  folly  may  not  be  the  cause  of  this 
disaster.  Another  knew  everything  —  Pope  —  Scrot- 
ton—  the  ballad!  Who  wrote  the  ballad?  Who  of 
our  enemies  knew  a  word  about  Rose?  Are  you 
blind?  Who  was  at  Avignon,  spying  on  me,  when  I 
first  met  Rose?  Who  hates  Lady  Oxford  no  less 
than  he  hates  me?  Whose  name  was  the  unhappy 
tippler  trying  to  remember?     Scrotton?     Pope?' 

'  Scrope  !  '  cried  Wogan,  cursing  his  own  stupidity. 
'  Scrope  it  must  have  been,  and  the  Crow  swore 
that  the  man  told  hint  about  the  plot,  and  often  talked 
it  over.' 

'That  means,  of  course,  that  Scrope  made  him 
talk.  The  old  curse  of  the  Cause,  that  lost  us  Edin- 
burgh Castle  in  the  Fifteen,  when  the  Scots  stopped 


PARSON    KELLY  221 

at  the  tavern  to  powder  their  hair.  Our  curse, 
Nicholas.     Wine  !  ' 

*  And  Woman,'  Mr.  Wogan  thought,  but  George 
ran  on, 

'  Scrope  it  was  who  wrote  the  ballad,  for  no  enemy 
but  Scrope  knew  what  the  writer  knew.  Lady  Mary 
is  a  friend.  Lady  Oxford  is  innocent,  thank  God  — 
I  say  it  with  a  humble  heart  —  and  I  am  not  the  cause 
of  the  ruin.' 

George's  eyes  shone  like  those  of  a  man  reprieved. 
Wogan  shook  his  friend's  hand ;  his  own  eyes  were 
opened. 

'  'T  is  you  are  the  devil,'  he  said,  '  Scrope  has  hit 
everyone  he  hates,  and  blown  up  the  plot.' 

'  His  time  will  come,'  said  Kelly;  'but  I  hear  Sam 
on  the  stair.' 

Mr.  Wesley,  tapping  lightly,  entered  his  room. 

'  Gentlemen,'  he  said,  '  the  outer  door  is  open.' 

Mr.  Wesley's  anxiety  was  plainly  to  be  read  in 
his    face. 

The  two  gentlemen  bade  him  farewell,  with  many 
thanks  for  his  hospitality.  He  accompanied  them 
to  the  door,  and  they  heard  the  bolt  shot  behind 
them  as  they  stood  in  the  cloister. 

'Whither  should  they  go?'  both  men  reflected, 
silent. 

Mr.  Wogan  has  remarked  on  a  certain  gaiety  and 
easiness  of  mind  caused  on  this  occasion,  he  considers, 
by  Mr.  Wesley's  Florence  coming  after  his  own 
Burgundy  at  supper.  He  was  also  elated  by  George's 
elation,  for  to  find  innocence  in  one  whom  he  had 
suspected  elevated  Mr.  Kelly's  disposition.  They 
were  betrayed,  true,  but  the  bitterness  of  a  betrayal 


222  PARSON    KELLY 

by  the  woman  he  had  loved  left  him  the  lighter  when 
the  apprehension  of  it  had  passed. 

One  little  point  rankled  in  Mr.  Wogan's  mind  in 
spite  of  all.  Why  had  Lady  Oxford  bidden  both 
of  them   to    her    rout? 

He  came  at  an  answer  by  a  roundabout  road. 

'  I  must  hurry  home  and  burn  my  papers,'  said 
Kelly,  as  soon  as  they  were  out  in  the  cloister,  with 
the  door  of  the  Dean's  house  shut  behind  them. 

Mr.  Wogan,  who  had  other  notions,  gripped  his 
arm. 

'  By  the  way,  did  you  burn  my  lady's  invitation 
to  her  rout  to-night.?  What  did  she  say,  George? 
Why  did  she  invite  you?  And  did  you  burn  the 
note?' 

Mr.  Kelly  smote  his  hand  on  his  brow.  '  My  wits 
were  wool-gathering.' 

*  On  Cupid's  hedges,'  said  Wogan. 

'But  I  locked  the  note  up.' 

'  With  the  rest  of  the  lady's  letters  in  my  dispatch 
box?' 

''Faith,  Nick,  you  are  the  devil.  How  did  you 
know  that?' 

'Oh,  I  have  divined  your  amorous  use  of  my  box.' 

'But  you  are  wrong.  I  had  the  box  with  the 
dangerous  papers  of  the  plot  open  on  the  table  when 
I  was  reading  the  letter.  Mrs.  Kilburne  knocked 
at  the  door.  I  did  not  know  who  it  might  be.  I 
slipped  the  letter  in  on  the  top  of  the  papers  of  the 
Plot,  and  locked  the  box  before  I  opened  the  door.' 

'There  it  remains  then?  Well,  her  Ladyship's 
note  is  in  the  better  company.  But  what  did  she 
say?     Did  she  give  a  reason  for  your  meeting?  ' 


PARSON    KELLY  223 

•The  chief  thing,  after  the  usual  compliments,  was 
that  she  had  most  important  news,  that  might  not  be 
written,  to  give  me  about  Mr.  Farmer's  affairs.  Prob- 
ably she  may  have  had  an  inkling  of  the  discovery 
and  wished  to  warn  me.' 

*VVe  must  see  her,'  said  Wogan,  whose  curiosity 
was  on  edge  from  the  first  about  this  party  of 
pleasure. 

*  But  my  papers  —  I  must  burn  my  papers.' 

'  George,  you  are  set,  or  you  are  not  set.  If  you 
had  been  set  the  messengers  would  have  been  at 
your  lodgings  before  I  went  thither;  in  fact,  before 
you  were  out  of  bed.  Therefore,  either  you  have 
the  whole  night  safe  or,  going  home  now,  you  go 
into  a  mousetrap,  as  the  French  say,  and  your 
papers  are  the  cheese  to  lure  you  there.  Now,  they 
cannot  know  of  my  lady's  invitations,  and  if  they  by 
any  accident  did  know,  a  Minister  would  hardly  take 
a  man  at  a  lady's  house.  That  were  an  ill  use  for 
the  hostess.' 

'  That 's  true,'  said  Mr.  Kelly,  after  reflecting. 
'  Nicholas,  I  knew  not  that  you  had  so  much  of  the 
syllogism  in  your  composition.' 

*  Another  thing,  and  an  odd  thing  enough,'  added 
Wogan.  '  Perhaps  nothing  is  laid  against  yoti  at  all. 
Did  Scrope  lay  information  when  he  found  us  at 
Brampton   Bryan?' 

'  No !  '  cried  Kelly.  '  And  at  Avignon,  when  a 
proper  spy  would  have  stopped  the  Duke's  gold,  he 
was  content  with  the  sword  in  his  own  hand.' 

*  Precisely,'  said  Wogan ;  '  Scrope  has  blown  the 
plot,  that's  business;  but  he  deals  with  you  himself, 
that's  pleasure.     He  tried  to  meet  you  at  Brampton 


2  24  PARSON    KELLY 

Bryan  —  he  did  not  have  us  laid  by  the  heels.  He 
nearly  did  for  you  at  Avignon,  while  he  let  the 
Duke's  business  alone,  quite  content.  Now  you  are 
alive  and  he  wants  a  meeting,  'tis  clear  he  did  not 
inform  on  you,  otherwise  the  messengers  would  have 
been  with  you  when  the  soldiers  began  the  camp  in 
the  morning.  'Faith,  you  may  meet  Mr.  Scrope  to- 
night in  St.  James's  Park.  He  is  a  kind  of  gentle- 
man, Mr.  Scrope  !  But  we  must  see  her  ladyship 
first;  sure,  nothing's  safer.* 

'  Nicholas,  thou  reasonest  well,'  said  the  Parson. 

Mr.  Wogan  towed  off  his  prize,  and  the  pair  moved 
out  of  the  dark,  musty  cloister  into  the  moonlight. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MR.  WOGAN  ACTS  AS  LIGHTNING-CONDUCTOR 
AT  LADY  oxford's  ROUT 

MR.  WOGAN  steered  his  captive  through  Petty 
France.  It  was  about  ten  of  the  clock,  a 
night  of  moonHght  and  young  spring,  a  night  for 
poets  to  praise  and  lovers  to  enjoy.  Mr.  Wogan  was 
not,  at  the  moment,  a  lover,  and  poetry  was  out  of 
his  mind. 

'  One  trifle  I  forgot  to  mention,'  he  said.  '  I  saw 
Montague  come  out  of  your  new  lodgings  this  even- 
ing.    He  bade  his  chairmen  go  to  Queen's  Square.' 

'Montague?  How  could  he  know  where  to  look 
for  me?     What  can  he  want  with  me?' 

'  I  misdoubt  he  was  not  very  well  pleased  with  the 
ballad,  and  would  have  you  explain  it.' 

'Montague,'  sneered  Mr.  Kelly,  with  a  touch  of 
temper;   'I  am  grieved  I  missed  him.' 

'You  need  not  grieve,  for  you  will  see  him  to-night. 
So  there's  balm  for  your  grief,  and  another  reason 
why  you  should  sup  with  Lady  Oxford.' 

The  Parson  stepped  out  more  briskly  after  that, 
and  Wogan  could  not  refrain  from  remarking  upon 
his  new  alacrity. 

'  It  is  after  all  a  very  human  sort  of  a  world,  as 
worlds  go,'  said  he.     '  Here's  a  man  with  all  his  hopes 

IS 


226  PARSON    KELLY 

crumbling  to  grave-dust  about  him,  and  the  mere 
prospect  of  a  quarrel  with  another  man  whom  he 
has  never  spoken  to,  on  account  of  a  woman  he  has 
a  great  contempt  for,  will  make  all  his  blood  flow 
quicker.'  For  it  was  evident  that,  though  the  Parson 
no  longer  cared  a  straw  for  Smilinda's  favours,  he 
had  not  forgiven  the  man  who  had  supplanted  him 
in  them. 

At  the  further  end  of  the  street  along  which  they 
walked,  one  house  threw  out  into  the  night  a  great 
blaze  of  light,  and  a  noise  of  many  voices.  As 
Wogan  perceived  it,  a  certain  improvement  upon  his 
plan  came  into  his  head. 

*  George,'  said  he,  as  he  directed  his  captive  towards 
the  house,  *  will  you  resolve  me  a  theological  quan- 
dary? Do  the  doctors  of  your  sect  consider  as 
binding  a  promise  given  to  a  person  of  a  different 
faith?' 

'  Assuredly  they  do,'  cried  Kelly.  '  Dr.  Hooker 
plainly  writes  —  ' 

'  I  shall  take  your  word  for  it,  without  Hooker's 
bond.  Next,  does  your  Reverence  reckon  it  immoral 
to  shake  an  elbow  on  occasion  .'' ' 

'  Even  the  very  Puritans,  at  the  height  of  their 
power,  doubted  if  they  could  proceed  against  dicers 
by  way  of  the  greater  excommunication.  We  read 
that  the  Chosen  People  themselves  cast  lots  — whence 
I  argue  for  a  permitted  latitude.' 

'  Well,  then,  we  are  opposite  the  doors  of  Le 
Queux's  Temple  of  Hazard;  you  may  hear  through 
the  windows  how  the  devout  are  calling  the  main. 
Now  I  must  take  your  promise,  as  you  say  it  is  bind- 
ing, to  wait  here  in  obedience  to   your  commanding 


PARSON    KELLY  227 

officer.  A  wise  leader  will  ever  send  out  scouts 
to  inspect  a  dangerous  pass.  I  shall  reconnoitre  at 
Lady  Oxford's  :  proper  precautions  should  never  be 
neglected,  even  in  a  friendly  country.  If  I  do  not 
return,  or  send,  in  forty  minutes  by  your  watch,  you 
must  follow.     All  will  seem  safe,' 

'  But,  Nick,  what  if  they  take  you  ?  Sure  we  had 
best  go  together.' 

'  They  will  not  arrest  me  alone.  You  don't  loose 
your  gun  at  a  rabbit  when  you  are  stalking  a  deer.  I 
am  not  the  keeper  of  secrets,  but  the  King's  mere 
servant,  to  give  knocks  and  to  take  them.  I  write 
no  letters,  and  none  write  them  to  me.  It  is  Mr. 
Johnson  they  will  be  stalking,  if  anyone  at  all,  never 
fear,  and  they  will  not  shoot  at  the  rabbit  whilst  Mr. 
Johnson  is  out  of  gunshot.  In  the  meantime,  have 
you  any  money?  ' 

'  Just  enough  to  pay  my  chairmen.' 

Mr.  Wogan  turned  his  pockets  inside  out. 

'  Then  here  are  ten  guineas.  In  my  belief  our 
luck  must  be  somewhere,  if  a  man  would  look  for  it, 
and  it  may  very  well  be  lurking  in  the  cavern  of  a 
dice-box.  Lose  or  win,  if  you  hear  nothing  of 
me,  you  march  forwards  and  occupy  Queen's  Square 
in  forty  minutes.  It  is  ten  o'clock  now.  And  if  you 
do  not  join  me  in  forty  minutes  I  walk  straight  to 
your  lodgings  and  take  my  chance.' 

*  So  be  it,'  said  Kelly,  pocketing  Mr.  Wogan's  gold, 
and  stepping  reluctantly  into  the  house  of  Le  Queux. 
Mr.  Wogan  waited  until  the  door  closed  upon  him, 
and  then  went  on  his  way  alone  to  Queen's  Square. 

He  had  not  displayed  the  whole  face  of  his  pur- 
pose to  the  Parson.     It  was  not  merely  to  reconnoitre 


228  PARSON    KELLY 

that  he  pushed  forward.  The  Parson  might  desire 
an  occasion  with  the  Colonel,  but  Wogan,  for  Miss 
Townley's  sake,  meant  to  meet  the  Colonel  first. 
Betrothed  men  should  not  be  brawlers,  and  George 
was  hardly  a  match  for  the  Colonel. 

The  Colonel  was  not,  in  the  nature  of  things,  likely 
to  feel  well-disposed  towards  the  Parson.  The 
ballad  would  have  turned  that  ill-disposition  into  a 
genuine  hostility.  So  here  was  one  of  the  reasons, 
besides  the  wish  to  reconnoitre,  why  Wogan  left  his 
friend  behind  him  in  Le  Queux's  gaming-rooms.  He 
would  be  the  lightning-conductor;  he  would  pick 
a  quarrel  with  the  Colonel  before  Mr.  Kelly  arrived, 
if  by  any  means  that  could  be  brought  about. 

Mr.  Wogan  stopped  in  the  shadow  a  few  yards 
from  Lady  Oxford's  house,  and  watched.  It  was  a 
night  of  triumph  for  Lady  Oxford.  A  score  or  so  of 
link-boys  yelled  and  flashed  their  torches  about  the 
portico ;  carriages  and  chairs  pressed  towards  the 
door.  Gentlemen  with  stars  upon  their  velvet  coats, 
and  ladies  altogether  swaddled  in  lace  and  hoops 
thronged  up  the  steps.  But  of  the  possible  messen- 
gers for  whom  Mr.  Wogan  looked,  not  one  was  to 
be  seen  in  any  corner.  Timidity  itself  might  have 
slept  secure.  Only  a  few  ragged  loiterers  stood  about 
in  the  roadway  on  the  look-out  for  a  lace  handkerchief 
or  a  convenient  pocket.  Wogan  crossed  the  road 
and  joined  the  throng  upon  the  stairs. 

He  had  carried  it  off  boldly  enough  at  the  Deanery, 
and  in  the  street  with  Kelly,  but,  as  he  walked  on 
alone,  the  fumes  of  the  Florence  wine  escaped  from 
the  seat  of  his  reasoning  faculties.  His  logic  did 
not  seem  so  conclusive,  and  he  felt  an  ugly  double- 


PARSON    KELLY  229 

edge  on  some  of  his  arguments.  Thus,  the  plot  had 
certainly  been  discovered,  yet  Kelly  had  not  been 
pounced  upon.  This  might  be  a  generosity  of  Mr. 
Scrope's  (who  had  behaved  as  handsomely  before), 
but  again,  what  if  Mr.  Kelly's  first  suspicions  were 
true?  What  if  Lady  Oxford  had  learned  something? 
What  if  this  rout  were  intended  to  enable  her  to  savour 
her  revenge  for  the  ballad?  The  thing  was  not 
beyond  Wogan's  power  of  belief,  and  the  more  he 
gazed  on  this  perspective,  the  less  he  enjoyed  it. 
Under  her  roof,  however,  for  the  sake  of  her  own 
credit,  Kelly  and  he  must  be  safe  from  arrest. 
Besides  it  might  be  that  her  Ladyship  was  ignorant 
of  the  ballad.  Reflecting  on  these  doubts,  and  thank- 
ful for  this  tender  mercy,  Wogan's  heart  was  ill  at 
ease,  though  he  put  on  a  face  of  brass.  The  chatter 
which  buzzed  at  his  inattentive  ears  seemed  the  most 
impertinent  thing  in  the  world.  At  each  step  a  flow- 
ered petticoat  swung  against  his  legs,  or  a  fan,  held 
by  a  hand  in  a  perfumed  glove,  knocked  against  his 
elbow,  and  somehow  the  fine  gentlemen  and  ladies 
in  their  fine  clothes  seemed  to  him  at  that  moment 
as  incongruous  as  a  nightmare.  Scraps  of  gossip 
of  which  he  took  no  note  at  the  time,  for  no  reason 
whatever  stuck  in  his  mind,  and  he  remembered 
them  quite  clearly  afterwards ;  how  that  Lady 
Holderness  was  sunk  in  all  the  joys  of  love,  not- 
withstanding she  wanted  the  use  of  her  two  hands 
by  a  rheumatism ;  and  Mrs.  Hervey,  revenue  from 
such  bagatelles  as  honour  and  reputation,  had 
taken  to  herself  two  most  fascinating  lovers,  and 
all  the  envy  of  her  sex.  A  shrill  lady  behind 
Mr.    Wogan's   shoulder    was    proposing    a    general 


230  PARSON    KELLY 

act  for  divorcing  all  the  people  of  England,  so 
that  those  who  pleased  might  marry  again,  whereby- 
many  reputations  which  stood  in  dire  peril  would 
be  saved  from  exposure.  Mr.  Wogan  had  much 
ado  not  to  shout  '  Hold  your  tongues,  will  you? 
Here,  maybe,  is  life  and  death  in  the  balance.' 

He  had  got  about  half-way  up  the  stairs  when 
the  shrill  voice  changed  its  tune,  and  now  Mr.  Wogan 
pricked  up  his  ears. 

'  You  have  heard  the  new  ballad?  Oh,  the 
sweetest,  most  malicious  thing.  You  must  certainly 
hear  it.  Smilinda,  the  Parson,  and  the  Colonel. 
You  know  who  Smilinda  is?  The  Parson  and  the 
Colonel  make  a  guess  easy.'  She  quoted  a  line  or 
two.  '  It  appears  that  the  Parson  has  consoled 
himself  with  Rose,  and  snaps  his  fingers  at  Smilinda. 
Who  wrote  it?  No  one  but  Smilinda's  dear  friend, 
Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  that  I  will  wager. 
'T  is  the  most  ingenious  thing;  and  most  ingeniously 
given  to  the  town  just  at  the  time  when  it  will  sting 
most.  Poor  Smilinda.'  The  voice  went  ofif  into 
a  giggle,  in  the  midst  of  which  Mr.  Wogan  distin- 
guished a  name  —  Lord  Sidney  Beauclerk's.  Mr. 
Wogan  would  hardly  have  heeded  the  name  had  he 
not  heard  it  again  twice  before  he  reached  the 
stairhead,  and  each  time  in  that  same  conjunction 
with  the  Parson  and  the  Colonel,  and  the  malicious 
aptness  of  the  ballad.  Even  then  he  gave  but  scanty 
heed  to  Lord  Sidney  Beauclerk,  for  the  knowledge 
that  the  ballad  was  indeed  become  the  common  talk 
occupied  his  thoughts,  and  so  thoroughly,  that  it  was 
the  nearest  thing  imaginable  but  he  gave  his  name 
as  Mr.  Wogan  to  the  lackey  who  announced  him. 


PARSON    KELLY  231 

Mr.  Hilton,  however,  was  announced,  and  Mr. 
Hilton  stepped  through  the  great  doorway  into  the 
room,  and  made  his  bow.  At  the  first  he  was 
sensible  only  of  a  great  blaze  of  light  spotted  here  and 
there  with  the  flames  of  candles ;  of  a  floor  pol- 
ished like  a  mirror,  of  a  throng  of  misty  faces,  a 
hubbub  of  voices,  and  a  gorgeous  motley  of  colours 
like  the  Turkish  bazaars  Lady  Mary  was  used  to 
describe.  Then  the  faces  grew  distinct.  Mr.  VVogan 
noticed  one  or  two  of  the  honest  party,  who, 
knowing  his  incognito,  threw  a  startled  glance  at 
him,  and  like  the  rats  from  the  sinking  ship,  scuttled 
away  as  soon  as  his  eyes  met  theirs. 

He  looked  around  him  for  Lady  Oxford.  He 
could  not  see  her  in  the  crowd  which  ebbed  and 
flowed  about  the  floor.  There  were  card  tables 
set  against  the  walls;  doubtless  she  would  be  seated 
at  one  of  them.  He  glanced  down  the  line  of  tables 
to  his  left.  He  did  not  see  Lady  Oxford,  but  his 
attention  was  seized  by  one  particular  table.  It 
stood  empty ;  a  few  packs  of  cards  waited  upon  it  for 
the  players  to  handle,  but  by  some  strange  chance  it 
stood  empty.    It  was  the  one  vacant  table  in  the  room. 

Mr.  Wogan  was  an  Irishman,  and  now  and  again 
had  his  visionary  moments,  though  he  said  little 
about  them.  As  he  looked  at  that  one  empty  table 
a  queer  sort  of  fancy  crept  into  his  head,  and,  to  be 
frank,  struck  something  of  a  chill  into  his  veins.  It 
came  upon  him  slowly  that  the  table  was  not  in 
truth  empty  at  all;  that  in  the  midst  of  this  velvet 
company,  all  jewels  and  compliments,  there  sat  at 
this  table  a  grey  shrouded  figure  which  silently 
awaited  its  player. 


232  PARSON    KELLY 

Mr.  Wogan  was  roused  by  a  touch  on  his  elbow. 

'Mr.  Hilton?' 

Mr.  Hilton  saw  a  dapper  young  gentleman  at  his 
side  who  looked  like  nothing  so  much  as  a  tangle  of 
ribbons  swept  up  from  a  milliner's  shop. 

'  To  be  sure/  said  Wogan. 

*  Her  ladyship  sits  yonder.' 

Mr.  Wogan  looked.  Her  ladyship  sat  with  her  back 
towards  him  at  the  table  nearest  to  that  which  stood 
empty.  She  had  been  screened  from  his  sight  by 
the  young  gentleman  now  at  his  elbow.  As  Wogan 
looked,  Lady  Oxford  turned  with  an  anxious  smile  and 
a  glance  beyond  his  shoulder.  The  smile,  the  glance 
braced  Mr.  Wogan.  For  doubtless  her  ladyship 
looked  to  discover  whether  the  Parson  followed  in 
his  steps. 

He  approached  Lady  Oxford.  By  her  side  sat 
Colonel  Montague,  black  as  thunder,  and  with  a 
certain  uneasy  air  of  humiliation,  like  a  man  that 
finds  himself  ridiculously  placed,  and  yet  has  not 
the  courage  to  move.  Mr.  Wogan  was  encouraged ; 
he  could  have  wished  the  Colonel  in  no  other  mood. 
Mr.  Wogan  suddenly  understood  that  it  was  him- 
self who  was  cast  to  play  with  the  shrouded  figure,  and 
the  stake  was  the  privilege  of  crossing  swords  with 
Montague. 

From  the  Colonel  his  eye  strayed  to  a  youth  who 
stood  by  Lady  Oxford's  chair,  and  the  sight  of  him 
clean  took  Wogan's  breath  away.  It  was  not  merely 
his  face,  though  even  in  that  bright  company  he 
shone  a  planet  among  stars.  Nature,  indeed,  thought 
Wogan,  must  have  robbed  a  good  many  women  of 
their  due  share  of  looks  before  she  compounded  so 


PARSON    KELLY  233 

much  beauty  in  the  making  of  one  man.  But  even 
more  remarkable  than  his  beauty  was  his  extraor- 
dinary Ukeness  to  Wogan's  King.  At  the  first  glance 
Wogan  would  have  sworn  that  this  youth  was  the 
King,  grown  younger,  but  that  he  knew  his  Majesty 
was  at  Antwerp  waiting  for  the  Blow  to  fall.  At 
the  second,  however,  he  remarked  a  difference.  The 
youth  had  the  haunting  eyes  of  the  Stuarts,  only 
they  were  lit  with  gaiety  and  sparkled  with  success  ; 
he  had  the  clear  delicate  features  of  the  Stuarts,  only 
they  were  rounded  out  of  their  rueful  length,  and 
in  place  of  a  sad  gravity,  were  bright  with  a  sunny 
contentment.  Misfortune  had  cast  no  shadows  upon 
the  face,  had  dug  no  hollows  about  the  eyes. 

Lady  Oxford  spoke  to  this  paragon,  smiled  at  him, 
drooped  towards  him.  The  Colonel  shifted  a  foot, 
set  his  lips  tight  and  frowned. 

Wogan  placed  a  hand  upon  his  guide's  sleeve. 

'  Will  you  tell  me,  if  you  please,  the  name  of 
her  ladyship's  new  friend?  ' 

The  young  gentleman  stared  at  Wogan. 

'Let  me  perish,  Mr.  Hilton,  but  you  are  strangely 
out  of  the  fashion.  Or  is  it  wit  thus  to  affect  an 
ignorance  of  our  new  conqueror,  for  whom  women 
pine  with  love  and  men  grow  sour  with  envy? 
But  indeed  it  is  wit  —  the  most  engaging  pleasantry. 
'Twill  make  your  reputation,  Mr.  Hilton.' 

*  It  is  pure  ignorance,'  interrupted  Wogan  curtly. 

'Indeed?  But  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  believe  it.' 
He  stared  at  Wogan  as  though  he  was  gazing  at  one 
of  Dr.  Swift's  Yahoos.  '  Slit  my  weazand  if  I  can. 
Sir,  he  is  the  gold  leaf  upon  the  pill  of  the  world. 
For  his  sake  dowagers  mince  in  white  and  silver,  and 


234  PARSON   KELLY 

at  times  he  has  to  take  to  his  bed  to  protect  himself 
from  their  assiduities.' 

'  He  has  a  dangerous  face  for  these  times,'  again 
Mr.  Wogan  broke  in. 

'Blame  his  grandmother  for  that,  Mr.  Hilton;  he 
is  of  the  royal  blood.  Nell  Gwynn  of  pious  memory 
gave  his  father  birth.  Our  last  Charles  was  his 
grandsire ;  he  hath  Queen  Mary's  eyes.  It  is  Lord 
Sidney  Beauclerk.' 

'  I  thought  as  much.  He  is  a  very  intimate  friend 
of  her  ladyship's?  ' 

•Mr.  Hilton,  the  world  is  very ^Wi'^^Vr,' remarked 
his  guide,  with  a  smirk. 

Mr.  Wogan  could  have  laughed.  He  understood 
why  the  Colonel  looked  so  black,  why  the  ballad  was 
so  maliciously  apt,  why  my  Lord  Sidney  Beauclerk 
was  coupled  with  the  Parson  and  the  Colonel  in  the 
common  talk.  Her  ladyship  was  taking  a  new  lover. 
Colonel  Montague  was  the  crumpled  ribbon  that  has 
done  good  service  but  is  tossed  into  the  cupboard  to 
make  way  for  fresher  colours.  The  ballad  was  apt 
indeed.  Mr.  Wogan's  spirits  rose  with  a  bound. 
Sure  here  was  an  occasion  for  picking  a  quarrel 
with  the  Colonel  ready  to  his  hand.  He  bowed 
very  low  to  her  ladyship.  Her  ladyship  went  on 
punting. 

Colonel  Montague  looked  at  him,  and  then  looked 
at  him  again  with  the  same  perplexity  which  Mr. 
Wogan  had  found  so  distasteful  one  evening  in  St. 
James's  Street  three  years  before;  but  he  said 
nothing.  Her  ladyship  laid  down  a  card  and  gave 
Mr.  Wogan  a  hand,  which  he  kissed  with  proper 
ceremony. 


PARSON    KELLY  235 

'  You  have  come  late,  Mr.  Hilton,'  she  said ;  '  and 
you  have  come,  it  seems  —  alone?  ' 

'  Madam,'  replied  Wogan,  with  a  glance  of  great  sym- 
pathy towards  the  Colonel,  and  in  his  softest  brogue, 
*  men  are  born  to  loneliness  as  the  sparks  fly  upward.' 

The  Colonel  took  his  meaning,  and  his  face  flushed. 
Wogan's  spirits  rose  higher.  If  only  Montague  was 
strung  to  the  same  pitch  of  exasperation  and  injury 
as  the  Parson  had  been  in  the  like  circumstances ! 
The  supposition  seemed  probable.  Mr.  Wogan  could 
have  rubbed  his  hands  in  sheer  content.  The 
Colonel,  however,  made  no  rejoinder,  and  Mr.  Wogan 
had  to  amuse  himself  by  watching  the  play. 

It  was  little  amusement,  however,  that  Mr.  Wogan 
got ;  on  the  contrary,  as  he  watched,  his  fears  returned 
to  him.  Her  ladyship  was  evidently  in  something  of 
a  flutter.  She  did  not  show  her  usual  severe  attention 
to  the  game.  Now  she  called  her  black  boy  Sambo 
to  bring  her  fan ;  now  she  would  pat  her  spaniel ; 
now  she  would  gaze  through  the  crowd  of  perruques 
and  laces  towards  the  door.  Her  smile  was  fixed 
even  when  she  paid  her  losses,  and  that  was  not  her 
way,  she  being  a  bad  loser.  She  was  watching  for 
someone,  and  that  someone  without  a  doubt  was  Mr. 
Kelly.  Wogan  could  not  but  ask  himself  with  what 
intention  she  watched.  Her  ladyship  was  taking  a 
new  lover,  and  for  that  reason  the  ballad  struck  her 
hard  —  if  she  knew  of  it.  Smilinda  was  not  the 
woman  to  forgive  the  blow.  She  would  assuredly 
blagie  Kelly  for  the  ballad  —  if  she  knew  of  it. 
Had  she  lured  him  here  to  strike  back?  She  turned 
once  more  to  Mr.  Wogan,  as  though  she  would 
put   some  question  to  him ;    but,  before  she    could 


236  PARSON    KELLY 

open  her  lips,  a  name  was  bawled  up  the  stairs  and 
a  sudden  hush  fell  upon  the  room.  The  throng  in 
the  doorway  dissolved  as  if  by  magic,  and  between 
the  doorway  and  Lady  Oxford's  chair  a  clear  path 
was  drawn.  The  name  was  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu's.  Everyone  then  knew  of  the  ballad  and 
laid  it  at  Lady  Mary's  door.  Everyone?  Mr.  Wogan 
asked  himself.     Did  Lady  Oxford  know? 

Montague  frowned  and  drummed  with  his  knuckles 
on  the  table;  it  was  the  only  sound  heard  in  the 
room.  Then  Lord  Sidney  noisily  thrust  back  his 
chair,  and,  stepping  past  Lady  Oxford,  stood  in  the 
open  space  between  her  and  the  door  with  a  frank 
boyish  championship  for  which  Mr.  Wogan  at  once 
pitied  and  liked  him. 

The  name  was  passed  up  the  stairs  from  lackey  to 
lackey,  growing  louder  with  each  repetition.  The 
silence  was  followed  by  a  quick  movement  which 
ran  through  the  room  like  a  ripple  across  a  pool,  as 
each  head  was  turned  towards  Lady  Oxford  to  note 
how  she  would  bear  herself.  She  rose,  the  radiant 
goddess  of  hospitality. 

'  There  is  no  striving,  Colonel  Montague,  against 
this  run  of  luck,'  she  said,  with  the  most  natural  ease; 
'  but  my  dear  Lady  Mary  is  come  to  save  me  from 
ruin.  Mrs.  Hewett,'  she  turned  to  her  opposite, 
'will  you  be  tallier  to  our  table?  The  bank  is  open 
to  a  bidder.  No?  Ah!'  and  she  took  a  step  for- 
wards to  where  her  champion  was  standing  apart,  his 
hand  on  his  hip,  his  face  raised,  ready  to  encounter 
even  so  dangerous  an  antagonist  as  Lady  Mary,  '  my 
Lord  Sidney  Beauclerk,  you  are  not  afraid?'  He 
looked  at  her,  from   her  to  the  door.     '  I    am  your 


PARSON    KELLY 


237 


servant,'  said  she,  with  her  eyelids  half-closed  over  her 
eyes, '  your  grateful  servant,'  and  she  motioned  him  to 
the  table ;  'for,  being  a  woman,  I  positively  die  to  hear 
what  new  scandal  dear  Lady  Mary  has  set  on  foot.' 

She  spoke  with  an  affectionate  compassion  for 
Lady  Mary's  foible  and  an  air  of  innocence  which 
quite  took  aback  the  most  part  of  her  guests.  Mr. 
Wogan,  however,  was  better  acquainted  with  her  lady- 
ship's resources,  and,  wishing  to  know  for  certain 
whether  Lady  Oxford  knew  of  the  ballad ; 

'  I  can  satisfy  your  ladyship's  curiosity,'  he  said 
bluntly;  and  with  that  the  noise  of  the  room  sank  to 
silence  again.  He  was  still  standing  by  the  card- 
table.  Lady  Oxford  turned  about  to  him  something 
quickly.  It  may  be  she  was  disconcerted,  or  that 
anger  got  the  upper  hand  with  her.  At  all  events, 
for  an  instant  she  dropped  the  mask.  She  gave 
Wogan  one  look ;  he  never  remembers,  in  all  the 
strange  incidents  of  his  life,  to  have  seen  eyes  so 
hard,  so  cold,  and  so  cruel,  or  a  face  so  venomous. 
In  a  second  the  look  was  gone,  and  the  prettiest  smile 
of  inquiry  was  softening  about  her  mouth.  '  There 
is  a  new  poem,  is  there  not,  from  Lady  Mary's  kind 
muse?'  said  Wogan. 

*  A  new  poem  ! '  cried  she.  '  Let  us  hear  it,  I  pray. 
It  would  be  the  worst  of  ill-breeding  had  I  not 
knowledge  enough  to  congratulate  my  friend.  The 
happy  subject  of  the  poem,  Mr.  Hilton?  ' 

Lady  Oxford  took  a  step  towards  him.  She  was 
all  courtesy  and  politeness,  but  Mr.  Wogan,  while 
he  recognised  her  bravery,  had  her  look  of  a  second 
ago  very  distinct  before  his  eyes,  and  was  in  no  mood 
for  pity.     He  bowed  with  no  less  courtesy. 


238  PARSON    KELLY 

'  It  is  thought  to  be  an  allegory,'  he  said,  'wherein 
the  arm  of  flesh  is  preferred  before  a  spiritual  — 
Blade. 

The  rejoinder,  as  it  seemed,  was  approved,  for  the 
ladies  whispered  behind  their  fans,  and  here  and  there 
a  man  checked  a  laugh.  Lady  Oxford  met  the 
thrust  with  all  the  appearances  of  unconcern. 

'And  tagged  with  Latin,  Mr.  Hilton?'  she  asked. 
That  was  enough  for  Mr.  Wogan.  Lady  Oxford 
knew  the  ballad,  and  gave  it  to  Lady  Mary.  Without 
a  doubt  she  must  believe  Mr.  Kelly  supplied  Lady 
Mary  with  the  matter  of  it.  '  Of  a  truth  the  ballad 
will  be  tagged  with  Latin.  Sure  Lady  Mary  has 
scholars  enough  among  her  friends  who  would  not 
let  her  wit  go  naked  when  a  scrap  of  Latin  could 
cover  it  decently —  indeed,  too  decently  at  times,  for, 
though  we  always  see  the  Latin,  one  is  hard  put 
to  it  now  and  then  to  discover  the  wit.  Do  you  not 
think  so,  Mr. —  Hilton?*  She  paused  ever  so 
slightly  before  the  name,  and  ever  so  slightly  drawled 
it,  with  just  a  hint  of  menace  in  her  accent.  Mr. 
Hilton,  none  the  less,  got  a  clear  enough  knowledge 
of  the  dangerous  game  he  was  playing.  Lady  Oxford 
had  but  to  say  '  Mr.  Wogan,'  and  it  would  not  be 
Mr.  Wogan  who  would  have  the  chance  of  playing 
a  hand  with  the  figure  at  the  empty  table. 

Lady  Mary's  name  was  now  called  out  from  the 
doorway,  and  Mr.  Wogan  was  glad  enough  to  leave 
the  encounter  to  her  worthier  hands.  Lady  Mary 
sailed  into  the  room ;  Lady  Oxford  swam  forwards 
to  meet  her.  The  two  ladies  dissolved  almost  in 
smiles  and  courtesies. 

'We   were    in    despair,    dearest    Lady    Mary;    we 


PARSON    KELLY  239 

feared  you  would  baulk  us  of  your  company. 
France,  they  said,  was  happy  in  your  sunshine.' 

'France,  madam?'  asked  Lady  Mary. 

'  It  was  your  dear  friend,  Mr.  Pope,  who  said  you 
had  withdrawn  thither — la,  in  the  stranc^est  hurrv  ! ' 

*  Indeed,  very  like  !  I  denied  Mr.  Pope  my  door 
two  days  ago,  and  his  vanity  could  only  conceive 
I  was  gone  abroad.' 

'Your  ladyship  was  wise.  A  poet's  tongue  wags 
most  indiscreetly.  Not  that  anyone  believes  those 
fanciful  creatures.  A  romance  of  a — a  M.  Remond 
for  whom  you  should  have  placed  money  in  the  sink- 
ing South  Sea;  the  Frenchman  arriving  in  London 
in  a  hurry ;  Lady  Mary  in  a  hurry  arriving  in  France ; 
a  kind  of  country  dance  figure  of  partners  crossing. 
A  story  indubitably  false,  to  the  knowledge  of  all 
your  ladyship's  friends,  as  I  took  occasion  to  say  at 
more  than  one  house  where  the  rumour  was  put 
about.' 

Lady  Oxford  had  scored  the  first  point  in  the 
game,  as  Wogan  reckoned  and  marked  '  Fifteen  — 
love '  with  chagrin.  However,  he  took  some  comfort 
from  Lady  Mary's  face,  which  was  grown  dangerously 
sweet  and  good-natured.  Nor  was  his  confidence 
vain,  for  Lady  Mary  did  more  than  hold  her 
ground. 

'Your  ladyship's  good  will,'  said  she,  'is  my 
sufficient  defence.  My  Lord  Oxford  is  here?  It  is 
long  since  I  paid  him  my  respects.' 

'  Alas,  my  dear  Lord  has  lain  these  last  six  weeks 
at  Brampton  Bryan,'  sighed  Lady  Oxford,  '  with  a 
monstrous  big  toe  all  swathed  in  flannel.  Your  lady- 
ship, I  fear,  can  only  greet  my  husband  by  proxy.' 


240  PARSON   KELLY 

There  was  just  a  sparkle  of  triumph  in  Lady  Mary's 
eyes. 

'  By  proxy  ! '  she  said ;  '  with  all  the  willingness  in 
the  world ;  '  and  she  swept  a  courtesy  to  Colonel 
Montague,  who  was  coming  forward  to  join  them. 

Lady  Oxford  flirted  her  fan  before  her  face. 

A  murmur  almost  of  applause  ran  from  group  to 
group  of  the  company. 

Mr.  Wogan,  who  loved  the  game  of  tennis,  marked 
'  Fifteen  —  all.' 

At  that  moment  a  clock  upon  the  mantelshelf 
chimed  the  half-hour.  In  fifteen  minutes  the  Parson 
would  arrive,  and  Mr.  Wogan  had  not  played  his 
hand.  He  moved  a  few  yards  from  the  table  at 
which  Lord  Sidney  Beauclerk,  with  his  eyes  upon 
Lady  Oxford,  was  dealing  the  cards,  and  stood  apart 
by  the  empty  table,  wondering  how  he  should  do. 
He  picked  up  a  pack  of  cards  idly,  and  Lady  Mary 
spoke  again  to  Lady  Oxford : 

'  I  interrupted  your  ladyship's  game.' 

'  Nay,  your  coming  was  the  most  welcome  diversion. 
Colonel  Montague,'  said  Lady  Oxford,  as  she  was  glid- 
ing back  to  her  table,  '  shared  my  bank,  and  played 
with  the  worst  of  luck.  I  declare  the  Colonel  has 
ruined  me ; '  and  so  retired  out  of  range  of  Lady 
Mary's  guns. 

The  Colonel  followed  Lady  Oxford.  Lady  Mary 
turned  to  Mr.  Wogan,  and  in  a  voice  loud  enough 
for  others  than  Mr.  Wogan  to  hear: 

'  What !  '  said  she,  *  was  Lady  Oxford  ruined  by 
Colonel  Montague  ?  I  did  not  think  their  acquaint- 
ance was  of  so  old  a  standing.* 

'  Thirty  —  fifteen,'  said  Mr.  Wogan  in  an  abstraction. 


PARSON   KELLY  ^41 

Lady  Mary  stared. 

'  I  was   but  marking  the  game  and  scoring  points 
to  your  ladyship,'  Wogan  said. 

Colonel  Montague  had  heard  Lady  Mary's  sally,  for 
he  stopped.  Lord  Sidney  Beauclerk  had  heard  it,  for 
he  rose  as  though  to  mark  his  disbelief,  and  handed 
Lady  Oxford  to  her  chair  with  a  sort  of  air  of  pro- 
tection very  pretty  in  the  boy.  It  seemed,  indeed, 
as  though  even  Lady  Oxford  was  touched,  for 
her  face  was  half  turned  towards  Mr.  Wogan,  and 
he  saw  it  soften  with  something  like  pity  and  her 
eyes  swam  for  an  instant  in  tears.  It  was  new,  no 
doubt,  for  the  spider  to  feel  compassion  for  the  fly, 
but  Mr.  Wogan  was  not  altogether  surprised,  for  he 
began  to  find  the  fly  very  much  to  his  own  taste. 
It  was  a  clean-limbed,  generous  lad,  that  looked 
mighty  handsome  in  the  bravery  of  his  pink  satin 
coat,  and  without  one  foppish  affectation  from  his 
top-knot  to  his  shoe-buckles. 

Mr.  Wogan  was  still  holding  the  pack  of  cards  in 
his  hands. 

*  You  have  a  mind  to  play? '  asked  Lady  Mary. 

Wogan  looked  at  the  clock.  He  had  only  fif- 
teen minutes  for  his  business  as  lightning  conductor. 
In  fifteen  minutes  the  Parson  would  be  here. 

'  If  you  will  present  me  to  the  player  I  have  a  mind 
to  play  with,'  said  he,  dropping  the  pack  on  the 
table. 

'  With  all  my  heart,'  said  she ;  '  name  him.' 

'  Colonel  Montague.' 

Her  ladyship  looked  at  Wogan  doubtfully,  and 
beckoned  the  Colonel  with  her  fan.  The  Colonel, 
who  had   his  own  feud  with    Lady   Mary  over    the 

16 


242  PARSON    KELLY 

supposed  authorship  of  the  ballad,  made  as  though 
he  had  not  seen  her  summons.  Lady  Mary  repeated 
it  with  no  better  result,  and  finally  took  a  step  or 
two  towards  him.  Montague  could  no  longer  affect 
to  misunderstand. 

*  I  wish  to  present  you  to  a  friend,'  she  said,  as 
Colonel  Montague  joined  her. 

'  If  your  ladyship  will  excuse  me,'  said  the  Colonel 
coldly,  '  I  have  no  taste  for  the  acquaintance  of 
Irish  adventurers.' 

Mr.  Wogan  was  not  out  of  earshot,  and  laughed 
gleefully  as  he  caught  the  insult.  Here  was  his 
opportunity,  come  in  the  nick  of  time. 

'Did  anyone  mention  me?*  he  said  pleasantly,  as 
he  came  round  the  card-table.  But  before  the 
Colonel  could  answer,  or  Lady  Mary  interfere,  the 
servant  at  the  door  announced: 

'  Dr.  and  Miss  Townley !  ' 

Wogan's  heart  gave  a  leap.  He  swore  beneath  his 
breath. 

'  Miss  Townley? '  asked  her  ladyship,  who  had 
caught  his  oath. 

'  Is  Rose,  the  Rose,*  replied  Wogan, 

Lady  Mary  knew  the  ballad,  knew  who  Rose  was, 
and  looked  perplexed  as  to  why  Lady  Oxford  had 
asked  the  girl.  Mr.  Wogan,  on  the  other  hand,  was  no 
longer  perplexed  at  all.  His  doubt  was  now  a  certainty. 
Lady  Oxford  had  prepared  a  scenic  revenge,  a  coup 
de  tJiMtre.  To  this  end,  and  to  prove  her  ignorance 
of  the  ballad,  she  had  invited  Kelly,  Montague, 
and  Rose. 

Of  the  coup  de  thMtre  her  ladyship  had  got  more 
than  she  bargained  for.    On  her  bosom  Miss  Townley 


PARSON    KELLY  243 

wore  diamonds  that  caught  the  e}'e  even  in  that 
Aladdin's  treasure  house  of  shining  stones,  and 
among  the  diamonds  the  portrait  of  Lady  Oxford. 
Her  ladyship  saw  it,  and  grew  white  as  marble. 
Miss  Townley  saw  Lady  Oxford,  knew  the  face  of 
the  miniature  that  she  had  thought  was  the  Queen's, 
and  blushed  like  the  dawn.  Her  hand  flew  to  her 
neck  as  she  courtesied  deep  to  Lady  Oxford's 
courtesy;  when  she  rose,  by  some  miracle  of  female 
skill,  the  miniature  and  the  diamonds  had  vanished. 
Rising  at  the  same  moment.  Lady  Oxford  looked 
herself  again.  But  the  women  understood  each 
other  now,  and,  as  they  purred  forth  their  politesses, 
VVogan  knew  that  the  buttons  were  off  the  foils. 

He  had  his  own  game  to  play,  that  would  brook 
no  waiting,  and  he  played  it  without  pause.  Lady 
Mary  had  moved  towards  the  door.  Colonel  Mon- 
tague was  gliding  back  to  his  old  position  near 
Lord  Sidney.  Wogan  followed  Colonel  Montague 
and  stopped  him. 

*  Sir,'  said  he,  in  a  low  brogue,  '  I  fancied  that  I 
caught  a  little  word  of  yours  that  reflected  on  me 
counthry  and  me  honour.' 

'  For  your  country,  sir,'  replied  the  Colonel 
politely,'  '  your  speech  bewrayeth  you,  but  the 
habitation  of  your  honour  is  less  discernible.' 

*  'Faith,  Colonel,'  said  Wogan,  who  found  his 
plan  answering  to  his  highest  expectations,  '  you  are 
so  ready  with  your  tongue  that  you  might  be  quali- 
fying for  an  Irishman.  Doubtless  you  are  as  ready 
to  take  a  quiet  little  walk,  in  which  case  I  shall  be 
most  happy  to  show  you  where  my  honour  inhabits. 
But,  to  speak  the  plain  truth,  it  is  somewhat  too  near 


244  PARSON    KELLY 

the    point   of    my   sword    to    make    Lady    Oxford's 
drawing-room  a  convenient  place  for  the  exhibition.' 

Colonel  Montague  smiled  at  the  pleasantry  in 
an  agreeable  way  which  quite  went  to  Wogan's 
heart. 

'  With  all  the  goodwill  imaginable,'  said  he,  *  I  will 
take  that  walk  with  you  to-morrow,'  and  he  made 
a  bow  and  turned  away. 

'  But  Colonel,*  said  Wogan  in  some  disappointment, 
'  why  not  to-night?' 

'There  are  certain  formalities.  For  instance,  I  was 
not  fortunate  enough  to  catch  your  name.' 

"Tis  as  ancient  as  any  in  Ireland,' cried  Wogan, 
in  a  heat,  quite  forgetting  his  incognito.  '  My  fore- 
fathers — ' 

'  Ah,  sir,  they  were  kings,  no  doubt,'  interrupted 
Montague  with  the  gravest  politeness. 

'  No,  sir,  viceroys  only,'  answered  Wogan  with 
indifference,  '  up  to  Edward  L' 

'  Your  Highness,'  said  the  Colonel,  and  he  bowed 
to  the  ground,  '  I  reckon  to-morrow  a  more  suitable 
time.' 

Mr.  Wogan  was  tickled  out  of  his  ill-humour, 
and  began  to  warm  to  the  man. 

'Sure,  Colonel,  you  and  I  will  be  the  best  of  good 
friends  after  I  have  killed  you,  and  for  the  love  of 
mercy  let  that  be  to-night.  Look ! '  and  stepping 
to  the  window  he  drew  aside  the  curtain.  '  Look,' 
said  he,  peering  out,  '  it  is  the  sweetest  moonlight 
that  ever  kissed  a  sword-blade !  Oh,  to-night, 
Colonel !  '  Then  he  dropped  the  curtain  some- 
thing suddenly.  He  had  seen  a  face  in  the  street. 
'You  prefer  sunlight?     Very  well,  sir.     But  you  will 


PARSON    KELLY  245 

acknowledge  that  to-morrow  I  have  the  earlzesi  claims 
on  your  leisure.' 

Colonel  Montague  bowed. 

'  The  word,  you  will  remember,  was  an  Irish 
adventurer.'  Wogan  impressed  it  upon  him. 

*  Sir,  I  am  wedded  to  the  phrase.  You  will  send 
your  friend  to  my  lodgings  at  Mrs.  Kilburne's,  in 
Ryder  Street' 

'  Mrs.  Kilburne's  ! '  exclaimed  Wogan. 

Wogan  might  have  guessed  as  much  had  he 
used  his  brains.  It  was  at  the  corner  of  Ryder 
Street  that  he  had  plumped  upon  Montague  when 
he  came  down  to  London  from  Glenshiel.  It  was 
under  a  portico  in  Ryder  Street  that  the  Parson  and 
he  had  seen  Montague  on  the  night  they  had  driven 
out  on  the  first  journey  to  Brampton  Bryan.  It  was 
at  Mrs.  Kilburne's  door  that  Wogan  had  seen 
Montague  that  afternoon.  The  Colonel  was  her  fine 
gentleman  upon  the  first  floor.  Sure,  the  Parson  had 
the  worst  luck  in  the  world.  At  all  events,  the 
Colonel  was  a  gentleman.  Wogan  consoled  himself 
with  that  reflection  as  he  thought  of  Mr.  Kelly's 
despatch  box  in  the  scrutoire  of  his  parlour  below 
the  Colonel's  rooms. 

That  thought  led  Wogan's  eyes  again  to  the  clock. 
It  was  half  an  hour  past  ten.  The  Parson  was  due 
in  ten  minutes. 

'  Good-bye  t'  ye,  Colonel,'  he  said  hastily  to 
Montague,  as  he  turned  towards  the  door.  He 
almost  knocked  against  Rose,  who  was  standing 
close  by  his  elbow.  She  made  an  effort  to  detain 
him;  he  breathed  a  word  of  apology.  It  did  not 
occur  to  him  then  that  she    might   have  overheard 


246  PARSON    KELLY 

his  conversation  with  the  Colonel.  He  hurried  past 
Lady  Oxford  and  Dr.  Townley,  who  was  talking 
of  his  schooldays,  when  he  knew  Lord  Oxford. 

'  Mr.  Hilton,'  cried  her  ladyship.  Mr.  Hilton  was 
deaf  as  a  bed-post.  For  when  he  had  looked  out 
of  the  window  at  the  moonlight  he  had  seen  a  face  in 
the  roadway  of  which  the  Parson  should  have  knowl- 
edge before  he  reached  the  house.  It  was  that  face 
which  had  made  him  drop  the  curtain  so  quickly 
and  fall  in  so  quickly  with  the  Colonel's  objections. 
A  link-boy's  torch  had  flashed  for  a  second  upon  a 
man  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  and  his  face  was 
Scrope's.     Scrope  was  watching  the  house. 

Wogan  pressed  through  the  throng  towards  the 
door,  but  before  he  could  reach  it  a  firm  hand  closed 
upon  his  arm.  He  looked  round.  Lord  Sidney 
Beauclerk  was  standing  by  his  side  with  a  flushed, 
angry  face. 

'  A  word  with  you,  Mr.  Hilton  1 ' 

'  A  hundred,  my  lord,  in  half  an  hour,'  said  Wogan, 
and  shook  himself  free.  He  must  warn  the  Parson 
and  turn  him  back  from  the  house.  But  he  was  too 
late.  In  the  doorway  of  the  house  he  met  Mr.  Kelly, 
whose  face  wore  a  singular  air  of  content.  And  on 
the  other  side  of  the  road  stood  Scrope  with  his  head 
turned  towards  the  doorway.  Scrope  knew  that  the 
Parson  had  come. 

Mr.  Wogan  took  Kelly's  arm,  and  led  him  to  the 
shady  side  of  the  street,  out  of  the  noisy  crowd  of 
lackeys  and  link-boys. 

'  Those  divines  err,'  said  Kelly,  *  who  condemn  the 
occasional  casting  of  lots.     It  is  not  an  ill  game.' 

'  Then  you  found  our  lurking  luck?' 


PARSON    KELLY  247 

'Six  rouleaux  of  gold,'  said  Mr.  Kelly,  tenderly 
caressing  his  pocket. 

'The  sinews  of  war,  and  we  are  like  to  need  them.' 

'  Then  the  coast  is  not  clear? ' 

'Clear!'  said  Wogan,  'there  is  every  sign  of 
thunder,  wind,  and  earthquake.  First,  Montague  is 
here ! ' 

'And  here  is  his  Capulet ! '  said  Kelly  smiling. 

Wogan  smiled  too,  having  secured  his  duel  with 
the  Colonel. 

'Then  Miss  Townley  is  here,  and,  George,  she  was 
wearing  my  lady's  miniature.  The  women  know  each 
other.' 

George's  mouth  opened,  and  his  utterance  was 
stayed.     Then, 

'  It  is  a  trap.  I  go  home,'  he  said.  Despair  spoke 
in  his  voice, 

'  No  ! '     Mr.  Wogan's  plans  had  changed. 

'Why  not?  I  have  no  more  to  lose,  and  my  duty 
to  do.' 

'  You  do  not  go  home,  for  Scrope  is  watching  the 
house.  He  has  seen  you  come.  He  is  behind  us 
now.'  Mr.  Kelly's  hand  went  to  his  sword,  but 
Wogan  checked  him.  *  Don't  let  him  think  you  know. 
We  must  leave  the  house  together,  and  your  duty  is 
to  be  just  now  where  Miss  Townley  is.     Be  quick  ! ' 

The  argument  had  weight  with  Mr.  Kelly.  Wogan 
had  his  reasons  for  advancing  it.  If  they  went  away 
together,  later,  Wogan  could  engage  Mr.  Scrope's 
attentions  while  the  Parson  went  safely  on  to  Ryder 
Street.  The  two  passed  out  of  the  shade,  but  not 
before  George  had  placed  his  hand  in  Wogan's.  His 
hand  was  cold  as  ice. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

LADY   oxford's   'COUP   DE  THEATRE.' 

The  Parson,  when  the  two  friends  had  climbed  the 
crowded  stairs,  began  making  his  way  towards  his 
fate  and  Lady  Oxford's  table,  with  a  smile  on  his 
face.  He  did  not  see  Rose,  who  was  a  little  apart, 
hidden  from  him  by  a  group  of  strangers,  Wogan 
was  about  joining  her,  when  a  woman's  voice  whis- 
pered in  his  ear : 

'  You  are  mad  !  ' 

The  voice  was  Lady  Mary's. 

*  You  are  mad,  both  of  you  !  He  should  be  half- 
way to  the  coast  by  now.  What  brings  him  here? 
I  wrote,  or  rather  I  sent  to  him.' 

'  True,'  said  Wogan,  remembering  the  letter  which 
he  had  picked  up  in  the  Parson's  lodging,  and  slipped 
into  his  pocket.  It  had  been  thrust  clean  out  of  his 
mind  at  the  Deanery  by  those  more  pressing  ques- 
tions as  to  how  the  Blow  had  been  discovered,  and 
how  they  were  to  escape  from  the  consequences  of 
the  discovery.     He  drew  it  out,  still  sealed  up. 

*  He  has  not  opened  it?'  she  asked. 

*  He  has  not  seen  it,'  replied  Wogan,  who  began  to 
fear  from  her  ladyship's  discomposure  that  the  letter 
held  news  of  an  urgent  importance.  She  took  the 
letter  from  his  hands,  and  broke  the  seal. 


PARSON    KELLY  249 

'This  was  my  message,'  she  said.  There  was  no 
scrap  of  writing  in  the  letter,  but  a  feather  from  a 
bird's  wing:   it  meant  "  Fly  !  " 

'  The  feather  is  white,'  said  VVogan.  He  could  not 
have  mounted  it.' 

'  He  loses  his  life.' 

'  Perhaps,  but  he  keeps  his  honour.  There  is  some- 
thing that  he  must  do  in  London  if  by  any  means  he 
can.  He  must  burn  the  papers  at  his  lodgings  and 
the  best  hope  lies  in  audacity.' 

Mr.  Wogan  tore  up  the  sheet  on  which  her  lady- 
ship had  written  Mr.  Johnson's  name  into  fragments 
too  minute  for  anyone  to  piece  tliem  together  again. 

'  This  proof  of  your  good  will,'  said  he,  '  shall  not 
rise  in  judgment  against  you.' 

'  But  you  ?  '  said  Lady  Mary.    '  Why  do  you  stay  ?  ' 

Wogan  laughed. 

'  For  one  thing,  I  have  a  little  business  of  my  own 
to  settle,  and  —  well —  ' 

'  And,'  said  she,  '  your  friend  's  in  danger.' 

She  spoke  with  so  much  kindliness  that  Mr.  Wogan 
felt  a  trifle  awkward,  and  turned  his  eyes  from  her 
face.  He  saw  that  Rose  still  stood  alone,  though 
many  of  the  gallants  eyed  her  through  their  quizzing- 
glasses. 

'Lady  Mary,'  he  said,  'you  have  the  kindest 
heart !  ' 

'  Hush !  Whisper  it,'  she  replied,  '  or  you  will 
destroy  my  reputation.  What  service  would  you 
have  me  do  now  ? ' 

'You  see  Miss  Rose?  You  have  read  a  certain 
ballad  which  the  ignorant  give  to  your  ladyship? 
And   you    know    Lady    Oxford.      It   is    Miss    Rose 


250  PARSON    KELLY 

Townley's  first  visit  to  this  house,  and  one  cannot 
believe  that  Lady  Oxford  asked  her  with  any  amiable 
intention.' 

'And  I  am  to  be  Lady  Oxford's  spoil-sport?' 

'  It  has  gone  beyond  sport.  At  this  moment  her 
ladyship  has  murder  in  her  mind.  The  girl  entered 
the  room  wearing  our  hostess's  portrait  in  diamonds,' 
and  he  told  her  shortly  how  she  came  to  wear  it. 

Lady  Mary  looked  her  horror. 

'  She  has  hidden  it,  but  you  will  not  leave  the 
girl?' 

Lady  Mary  nodded,  her  lips  tight  closed. 

Wogan  presented  the  girl.  Lady  Mary  made 
room  for  her  at  her  side,  and  Wogan  only  heard  her 
say,  '  My  dear,  be  brave,  you  tremble.' 

What  else  passed,  Wogan  did  not  desire  to  hear. 
Lady  Mary  had  faults,  they  say,  as  a  woman,  but  she 
was  of  a  manlike  courage,  and  her's  was  the  friend- 
ship of  a  man.  Never  did  woman  need  it  more  than 
Miss  Townley,  and  never,  sure,  was  counsel  and  com- 
fort wiser  and  kinder  than  that  which,  Wogan  knew 
later.  Lady  Mary  gave  to  the  angry,  frightened,  and 
bewildered  girl. 

Lady  Mary's  credentials  were  Wogan's  name;  the 
girl  could  not  suspect  them.  How  had  she  come 
hither?  Lady  Oxford  had  invited  her  father.  Rose 
said,  as  a  schoolfellow  of  my  lord's,  and  had  asked, 
too,  for  the  daughter's  company.  Then  the  young  lady 
was  lured,  her  new  friend  said,  by  a  wicked  woman 
for  a  cruel  purpose.  That  purpose,  whatever  it  was, 
and  neither  Wogan  nor  Kelly  nor  Lady  Mary  could 
do  more  than  guess,  must  be  defeated  at  any  cost 
—  at   all  costs.       Lady    Mary    glanced   at   the  guilt 


PARSON    KELLY 


251 


and  guilelessness  of  our  sex.  Kelly,  too,  had  been 
entrapped,  before  he  knew  Rose,  but  that  was  ended. 
Lady  Mary  certainly  knew  it  was  ended,  however 
things  appeared.  According  to  men's  notions,  he 
was  compelled  to  lie  to  Rose  about  the  miniature. 
Now  Miss  Townley  might,  if  she  chose,  give  Kelly 
his  conge  to-morrow.  To-night  she  must  know 
nothing,  see  nothing,  bear  no  grudge,  be  staunch ; 
she  owed  it  to  her  honour,  to  the  honour  of  her 
sex,  to  Kelly's  very  life,  and  to  her  revenge,  if  she 
craved  for  one,  on  the  false  enchantress.  That  was 
Lady  Mary's  sermon.  And  the  lesson  was  needed. 
She  reported  it  later  to  Wogan  who,  at  this  moment, 
was  following  the  Parson  with  all  his  eyes. 

Lady  Oxford  at  the  card-table  was  greeting  Kelly 
with  a  conspicuous  kindness.  Her  smile  was  one 
wide  welcome. 

'  My  dear  Mr.  Johnson,'  she  said,  '  you  are  grateful 
as  flowers  worked  on  the  very  finest  Alengon.  Sure 
you  bring  me  those  laces  for  which  I  gave  you  a 
commission  in  Paris,  and  the  lutestring  from  my  Lady 
Mar.' 

Mr.  Kelly  murmured  a  word  that  the  laces  were 
below,  and  he  hoped  her  ladyship  would  be  satisfied. 
But  his  eyes  searched  the  room  all  the  time  for  Rose, 
whom  he  could  not  see. 

'  You  shall  show  me  them !  '  cried  Lady  Oxford ; 
*  but  first  you  must  bring  me  luck.  Mr.  Johnson  and 
I  were  always  lucky  before  he  went  abroad.'  She 
spoke  with  a  provoking  smile  at  Colonel  Montague, 
and  then  shot  a  quick  glance  at  Lord  Sidney  Beau- 
clerk,  who  was  now  risen  from  the  table,  and  stood 
in  a  window  watching  her, 


252  PARSON    KELLY 

The  glance  said  plain  as  writing,  '  You  understand. 
I  have  to  face  out  the  ballad.  I  can  trust  you.' 
Wogan's  blood  boiled  as  he  noticed  and  read  the 
look,  for  it  was  just  that  tender  appeal  to  her  lover's 
faith  which  always  brought  about  the  l6ver's  undoing. 
Lord  Sidney's  young  face  flushed  with  pride  at  the 
trust  she  reposed  in  him,  and  she  continued  to  Kelly: 

'Look  over  my  hand,  Mr.  Johnson;  you  must  not 
leave  me.  What  card  shall  I  choose?  You,  Colonel 
Montague,  I  discard  you.  I  appoint  you  to  the 
Commissariat,  run  and  see  that  Lady  Rich  does  not 
starve.  She  is  leaving  her  party  with  the  air  of  a 
loser,  and  needs  the  comforts  of  chicken  and  cham- 
pagne. But  first  let  me  make  you  better  acquainted 
with  the  gentleman  who  supersedes  you.  Mr.  John- 
son, the  right-hand  man  of  my  dear  Bishop  of 
Rochester.'  There  she  stopped  short  in  a  pretty 
confusion,  as  though  the  words  had  slipped  from  her 
lips  against  her  will. 

'  Who  should  be  thrown  to  the  lions,'  growled  the 
Colonel  to  himself,  and  added  gruffly,  '  Mr.  Johnson 
and  I  have  met  before.' 

The  Colonel  turned  his  broad  scarlet  back  with  the 
ghost  of  a  bow,  and  went  reluctantly  to  Lady  Rich, 
a  mature  matron,  dressed  to  kill,  in  virginal  white. 
Wogan  watched  them  out  of  the  door,  and  was  again 
turning  back  to  the  card-table,  when  again  Lord 
Sidney  Beauclerk's  hand  was  laid  on  his  sleeve. 

'  A  word  with  you,  Mr.  Hilton,'  said  he  in  a  hard 
voice. 

'  When  the  half-hour  is  past,  my  lord,'  said  Wogan, 
looking  at  his  watch.  '  There  are  still  eight  minutes 
and  a  few  seconds/ 


PARSON    KELLY  253 

*  I  will  set  my  watch  by  yours,'  said  the  lad  with 
great  dignity;  which  he  did,  and  went  back  to  his 
corner. 

Mr.  Johnson's  welcome,  meanwhile,  was  as  that  of 
the  prodigal  swain.  He  made  more  than  one  effort 
to  slip  from  her  side  and  go  in  search  of  Rose,  but 
Lady  Oxford  would  not  let  him  go.  She  had  eyes 
only  for  him,  eyes  to  caress.  Many  curious  people 
watched  the  scene  as  at  a  play.  All  the  town  knew 
the  ballad,  and  here  was  Lady  Oxford's  reply.  Mr. 
Johnson  and  Lady  Oxford  were  to  all  seeming  the 
best  of  friends,  and  no  more  than  friends,  for  was  not 
Miss  Townley  in  the  room  to  testify  the  limits  of  their 
friendship? 

A  shifting  of  the  groups  gave  Wogan  suddenly  a 
view  of  Rose  Townley.  She  was  still  talking  with 
Lady  Mary,  or  rather  she  was  still  listening  to  her, 
and  threw  in  now  and  again  a  short  reply.  But  she 
spoke  with  an  occupied  air,  and  her  eyes  were  drawn 
ever  towards  the  card-table  at  which  Lady  Oxford 
was  practising  her  blandishments  on  the  Parson. 
Then  to  Wogan's  relief  a  few  ladies  and  gentlemen 
stepped  between,  and  the  living  screen  hid  him  from 
her  view. 

At  this  moment  Lady  Oxford  lost  heavily. 

'An  ace?  Sonica !  I  am  bankrupt!'  she  cried, 
and  rising  from  the  table  she  addressed  the  Parson. 
'  Mr.  Johnson,  you  bring  me  no  better  luck  than  did 
the  Colonel.  I  must  console  myself  with  private  talk, 
and  news  of  lace  and  lutestring.  What  have  you 
brought  me?  Come,  I  positively  die  to  see,'  and  so, 
with  her  sweetest  smile,  she  carried  off  the  Parson. 

It  was  thus  she  had  wrought  on  that   first  night 


254  PARSON    KELLY 

when  Kelly  met  the  Colonel,  but  there  was  a  mighty 
difference  in  Kelly's  demeanour.  Then  he  had  given 
her  his  arm  with  the  proudest  gallantry.  Now  her 
ladyship  went  out  of  her  way  to  lead  him  past  Rose, 
where  she  sat  with  Lady  Mary.  He  threw  an  implor- 
ing glance  at  the  girl,  and  followed  in  Lady  Oxford's 
wake,  the  very  figure  of  discomfort. 

Fine  smiles  rippled  silently  round  the  company  as 
the  pair  made  their  way  to  the  door.  Rose  watched 
them,  her  face  grown  very  hard  and  white,  but  she  said 
no  word  until  they  had  gone.  She  stood  motionless, 
except  that  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  quickly.  Then 
she  turned  to  Lady  Mary. 

'  I  must  bid  your  ladyship  good-night,'  she  said ; 
'  I  have  stayed  too  long.' 

Pride  kept  her  voice  clear,  her  words  steady,  but  it 
could  not  mask  the  pain  of  her  face. 

'  What  ails  you,  child?  You  must  smile.  Smile  ! ' 
whispered  Lady  Mary,  But  Rose  was  struck  too 
hard.  She  lowered  her  eyes  and  fixed  them  on  the 
floor  to  hide  the  humiliation  they  expressed,  but  she 
could  not  smile.  She  tried,  but  no  more  came  of  it 
than  a  quiver  at  the  corners  of  her  lips,  and  then  she 
set  her  mouth  firmly,  as  though  she  could  not  trust 
herself. 

'  I  thought  I  had  persuaded  you,'  whispered  Lady 
Mary.  '  It  is  for  honour,  it  is  for  life,  his  life.  Ap- 
pearances are  nothing.     You  must  stay,' 

'  I  thank  your  ladyship,  who  is  most  kind.  I  will 
stay,'  said  the  girl.  Her  face  flushed  purely  with  a 
delicate,  proud  anger. 

Lady  Mary  presented  her  to  some  of  her  friends, 
with    whom     Rose    bore    herself    bravely.     Wogan 


PARSON    KELLY 


255 


saw  that  she  had  taken  her  part,  and  blessed  Lady- 
Mary. 

He  had  followed  Lady  Oxford  and  the  Parson  out 
of  the  room,  and  leaned  over  the  balusters  while  they 
descended  the  stairs.  It  was  an  ominous  business, 
this  summons  of  Lady  Oxford.  Why  must  she  carry 
him  off  alone  with  her?  What  blow  had  she  to  strike? 
Mr.  Wogan  was  not  surprised  that  Kelly  had  turned 
pale,  and  though  he  held  his  head  erect,  had  none 
the  less  the  air  of  one  led  to  the  sacrifice.  To  make 
the  matter  yet  more  ominous,  Lady  Oxford  herself 
seemed  in  a  flutter  of  excitement;  her  colour  was 
heightened ;  she  sparkled  with  even  more  than  her 
usual  beauty ;  her  tongue  rattled  with  even  more  than 
its  usual  liveliness. 

Half-way  down  the  stairs  she  met  Lady  Rich  and 
Colonel  Montague  mounting.  Lady  Oxford  stopped 
and  spoke  to  the  Colonel,  Mr.  Wogan  caught  a 
word  or  two,  such  as  *  Miss  Townley — the  poor  girl 
knows  no  one.'  Kelly  started  a  little;  the  Colonel 
sullenly  bowed.  Lady  Oxford,  leaning  upon  Mr. 
Kelly's  arm  in  order  to  provoke  the  Colonel,  must 
needs  in  pity  bid  the  Colonel  wait  upon  Rose  in 
order  to  provoke  Mr.  Kelly.  There  Wogan  recog- 
nised her  ladyship's  refinements. 

The  pair  passed  down  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  To 
the  right  of  the  staircase  a  door  gave  on  to  that  little 
room  into  which  Kelly  had  led  Lady  Oxford  on  the 
night  of  the  Masquerade.  Lady  Oxford  left  his  arm 
and  went  towards  it. 

Kelly  remained  standing  by  the  stairs,  very  still.  It 
was  in  this  room  that  Lady  Oxford  had  discovered 
the  Chevalier's  likeness  in  the  lid  of  the  snuff-box,  and 


256  PARSON    KELLY 

had  deceived  George  into  the  belief  that  she  was,  heart 
and  soul,  as  deep  in  the  Cause  as  he.  It  was  that 
room  which  had  witnessed  the  beginnings  of  the  his- 
tory.    Now  it  seemed  it  was  like  to  see  the  end. 

Kelly  looked  up  the  stairs  and  saw  Wogan's  face. 
He  smiled,  in  a  quiet,  hopeless  way,  and  then  Lady 
Oxford  threw  open  the  door.  She  turned  back  to 
Kelly,  a  languorous  smile  upon  her  lips,  a  tender  light 
in  her  eyes.  Neither  the  smile  nor  the  look  had 
power  to  beguile  the  two  men  any  longer.  Kelly 
stepped  forwards  to  her  like  a  man  that  is  tired. 
Wogan  had  again  the  queer  sense  of  incongruity. 
Behind  him  voices  laughed  and  chattered,  in  some 
room  to  his  left  music  sounded ;  and  here  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  was  a  woman  all  smiles  and  graces  play- 
ing with  Life  and  Death  as  a  child  with  toys. 

The  pair  passed  into  the  room.  The  door  shut 
behind  them.  The  click  of  the  latch  is  one  of  the 
things  Wogan  never  will  forget. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

WHEREIN    A    NEW    FLY    DISCOURSES    ON    THE    INNO- 
CENCE  OF  THE   spider's   WEB 

WOGAN  was  still  leaning  on  the  rail  of  the  balus- 
trade when  a  watch  was  held  beneath  his  nose. 

'The  half-hour  is  gone,  Mr.  Hilton,'  said  Lord 
Sidney  Beauclerk. 

'  True,'  said  Wogan, '  it  is  now  a  quarter  past  eleven.' 
His  eyes  moved  from  the  watch  to  the  closed  door. 
'  Half  an  hour,  my  lord,'  he  mused,  '  a  small  trifle  of 
minutes.  You  may  measure  it  by  grains  of  sand, 
but,  if  you  will,  for  each  grain  of  sand  you  may 
count  a  life.' 

'  You  hit  my  sentiments  to  a  nicety.' 

Lord  Sidney  spoke  with  a  grave  significance  which 
roused  Wogan  from  his  reflections.  The  lad's  face 
was  hard ;  his  eyes  gloomy  and  fierce.  Wogan  re- 
membered that,  when  Lord  Sidney  had  spoken  be- 
fore, he  had  not  seemed  in  the  best  of  good  humour. 

*  My  lord,'  he  said,  '  we  can  hardly  talk  with  com- 
fort here  in  the  doorway.'  He  led  the  way  back  into 
the  inner  withdrawing-room  and  across  the  room  to 
the  recess  of  a  window. 

'  Here  we  shall  be  private,'  he  said. 

'  Mr.  Hilton,  you  spoke  a  little  while  ago  of  a 
ballad,  wherein,  to  use  your  words,  the  arm  of  flesh 

17 


258  PARSON    KELLY 

was  preferred  to  a  spiritual  Blade.  That  may  have 
been  wit,  of  which  I  do  not  profess  to  be  the  judge. 
But  you  aimed  an  insult  at  a  woman,  and  any  man 
may  claim  to  be  the  judge  of  that.' 

'  My  lord,'  answered  Wogan  gently,  '  you  do  not 
know  the  woman.     I  could  wish  you  never  will.' 

Lord  Sidney  laughed  with  a  sharp  scorn  which 
brought  the  blood  into  Wogan's  face.  It  was  plain 
the  remark  was  counted  an  evasion. 

'  At  all  events  I  know  an  insult  when  I  hear  it. 
Let  us  keep  to  the  insult,  Mr.  Hilton.  It  reaped  its 
reward,  for  here  and  there  a  coward  smirked  his 
applause.'  Lord  Sidney's  voice  began  to  tremble 
with  passion.  '  But  it  has  yet  to  be  paid  for.  You 
must  pay  for  it  to  me,'  and,  since  Wogan  kept  silence, 
his  passion  of  a  sudden  got  the  upper  hand,  and  in  a 
low  quick  voice  —  there  was  as  much  pain  as  anger 
in  it —  '  It  hurts  me,'  he  said,  clenching  his  hands,  *  it 
positively  hurts  me.  Here  is  a  woman  '  —  he  stopped 
in  full  flight,  and  blushed  with  a  youthful  sort  of 
shame  at  his  eloquence  —  'a  woman,  sir,  in  a  word, 
and  you  must  torture  her  with  your  brave  sneers  and 
she  must  wear  a  smiling  face  while  her  heart  bleeds ! 
Mr.  Hilton,  are  you  a  man?  Why,  then,  so  am  I, 
and  it  humiliates  me  that  we  should  both  be  men. 
The  humiliation  will  not  pass  even  after,'  and  he 
drew  a  breath  in  through  his  shut  teeth,  'after  I  have 
killed  you.' 

Mr.  Wogan  had  listened  to  the  outburst  with  all 
the  respect  he  thought  due  to  a  boy's  frank  faith. 
A  boy  —  Wogan's  years  were  not  many  more  than 
his,  but  he  had  seen  mankind,  and  marvelled  how 
they  will   trust  a  woman   who,  they  know,  has  fooledi 


PARSON    KELLY  259 

one  man,  if  but  a  husband.  But,  at  Lord  Sidney's 
talk  of  killing  him,  Wogan  sank  the  philosopher  and 
could  not  repress  a  grin. 

'  Kill  me,  my  young  friend  ;  ne  fait  ce  tour  qui  vent' 
he  said;  'but  sure  you  may  try  if  you  will.  You 
will  not  be  the  first  who  has  tried.' 

'  I  have  no  doubt  of  that,'  said  Lord  Sidney  gravely, 
'  and  you  will  oblige  me  by  using  another  word.  I 
may  be  young,  Mr,  Hilton,  but  I  thank  God  I  am 
not  your  friend.' 

There  was  a  dignity,  a  sincerity  in  his  manner 
which  to  Mr.  VVogan's  ears  robbed  the  speech  of  all 
impertinence,     Wogan  simply  bowed  and  said: 

'  If  you  will  send  your  friend  to  Burton's  Coffee 
House  in  the  morning ' 


'  To  Burton's  Coffee  House.' 

Lord  Sidney  turned  away.  Mr.  Wogan  drew  aside 
the  curtain  of  the  window  and  stared  out  into  the 
night  with  an  unusual  discontent.  Across  the  road 
Mr.  Scrope  was  still  lurking  in  the  shadow  —  a  hired 
spy.  Very  like,  he  had  once  been  just  such  another 
honest  lad,  with  just  the  same  chivalry,  before  my 
lady  cast  her  covetous  eyes  on  him.  Downstairs 
in  the  little  room  the  Parson  was  fighting,  for  the 
Cause,  for  his  sweetheart,  for  his  liberty,  and  maybe 
for  his  life,  with  little  prospect  of  a  safe  issue.  It 
seemed  a  pity  that  Lord  Sidney  Beauclerk  should  be 
wasted  too. 

*  My  lord,'  said  Wogan,  calling  after  Lord  Sidney. 
And  Lord  Sidney  came  back.  Wogan  was  still  hold- 
ing the  curtain  aside ;  he  had  some  vague  thought  of 
relating  Scrope's  history,  but  his  first  glance  at  Lord 
Sidney's    face    showed    to    him    it    would    not   avail. 


2  6o  PARSON    KELLY 

Lord  Sidney  would  disbelieve  it  utterly,  Wogan 
dropped  the  curtain. 

'  How  old  is  your  lordship?  '  he  asked. 

Lord  Sidney  looked  surprised,  as  well  he  might, 
and  then  blushed  for  his  youth. 

*  I  am  twenty,'  he  said,  '  and  some  months,'  with 
considerable  emphasis  on  the  months  as  though  they 
made  a  world  of  difference. 

'Ah,'  replied  Wogan,  'I  am  of  the  century's  age, 
twenty-two  and  some  more  months.  You  are  aston- 
ished, my  lord.  But  when  I  was  fifteen  I  fought  in 
battles.' 

'  Was  it  to  tell  me  this  you  called  me  back? ' 

'  No,'  said  Wogan  solemnly,  *  but  you  meet  me  to- 
morrow. I  am  not  sure  that  I  could  do  you  better 
service  than  by  taking  care  that  you  meet  no  one 
afterwards.  It  was  that  I  had  to  tell  you,'  and  he 
added  with  a  smile,  *  but  I  do  not  think  I  shall  bring 
myself  to  do  you  that  service.' 

Lord  Sidney's  face  changed  a  little  from  its  formal 
politeness.  He  eyed  Mr.  Wogan  as  though  for  a  mo- 
ment he  doubted  whether  he  had  not  mistaken  his 
man.     Then  he  said  : 

'  In  a  duel,  Mr.  Hilton,  there  are  two  who  fight' 

*  Not  always,  my  lord.  Sometimes  there  is  one 
who  only  defends,'  and  with  that  they  parted.  Clam- 
orous dames  took  Lord  Sidney  captive.  Wogan 
looked  at  his  watch.  Five  minutes  had  passed  since 
that  latch  had  clicked.  He  strolled  out  of  the  room 
to  the  stairs.  The  door  was  still  shut.  He  came 
back  into  the  room  and  stood  by  Lady  Mary,  who 
was  describing  to  Rose  the  characters  of  those  who 
passed    by.       She     looked     anxiously    at     Wogan, 


PARSON    KELLY  261 

who  had  no  comforting  news  and  shook  his  head, 
but  she  did  not  cease  from  her  rattle. 

'  And  here  comes  Colonel  Montague  with  a  yellow 
bundle  of  bones  tied  up  in  parchment,'  she  cried. 
Lady  Rich  was  the  bundle  of  bones  in  parchment. 
'Colonel  Montague  —  well,  my  dear,  he  is  a  gallant 
officer  in  the  King's  guards  who  fought  at  Preston, 
and  he  owes  his  life  to  a  noisy  Irish  boy  who  has 
since  grown  out  of  all  recognition.' 

Here  Rose  suddenly  looked  up  at  Wogan. 

'  It  was  this  Colonel  Montague  you  saved !  '  said 
she. 

'  Hush,'  whispered  Wogan,  who  had  his  own 
reasons  for  wishing  the  Colonel  should  discover 
nothing  upon  that  head.  '  Remember,  if  you  please, 
that  my  name  is  Hilton.' 

Colonel  Montague  led  Lady  Rich  to  the  sofa. 

*  Colonel,  has  fortune  deserted  you  that  you  look 
so  glum?  '  asked  Lady  Mary. 

'  I  am  on  the  losing  hand  indeed,  your  ladyship, 
to-night,'  said  Montague  bitterly. 

'  Well,  malheureicx  en  jeu,'  said  her  ladyship 
maliciously,  '  you  may  take  comfort  from  the  rest  of 
the  proverb.' 

Lady  Rich  shook  her  rose-coloured  ribbons,  a 
girlish  simpleton  of  forty  summers. 

'I  am  vastly  ashamed  of  being  so  prodigiously 
ignorant,'  said  she.  '  I  daresay  I  ask  a  mighty  silly 
question,  but  what  is  the  rest? ' 

*  French,  my  dear,  and  it  means  that  fifteen  years 
is  the  properest  age  for  a  woman  to  continue  at,  but 
why  need  one  be  five? ' 

Colonel    Montague   smiled    grimly.      Mr,    Wogan 


2  62  PARSON    KELLY 

stifled     a    laugh.       Lady     Rich     looked     somewhat 
disconcerted. 

'  Oh,  is  that  a  proverb  ?  '  said  she  with  a  minaiiderie. 
'  I  shall  dote  on  proverbs,'  and  so  she  simpered  out 
of  range. 

Lady  Mary  lifted  up  her  hands. 

'  Regarded  cet  animal ! '  she  cried  ;  '  considerez  ce 
n^atit.     There 's  a  pretty  soul  to  be  immortal.' 

'  Your  ladyship  is  cruel,'  said  Rose  in  remonstrance. 

*  Nay,  my  dear,  it  is  the  only  way  to  keep  her 
quiet.  My  Lady  Rich  is  like  a  top  that  hums  sense- 
lessly. You  must  whip  it  hard  enough  and  then  it 
goes  to  sleep  and  makes  no  noise.  Mr.  Hilton,  are 
you  struck  dumb?' 

Mr.  Hilton's  ears  were  on  the  stretch  to  catch  the 
sound  of  a  door,  and  making  an  excuse  he  moved 
away.  Suspense  kept  him  restless ;  it  seemed  every 
muscle  in  his  body  clamoured  to  be  doing.  He 
walked  again  to  the  window.  Scrope  was  still  fixed 
at  his  post.  VVogan  sauntered  out  of  the  room  to 
the  stairs,  and  down  the  stairs  to  the  hall.  The  hall 
was  empty.  The  door  of  the  little  room  where  Kelly 
and  Lady  Oxford  were  closeted  was  shut,  and  no 
sound  came  through  it,  either  of  word  or  movement. 
Wogan  wished  he  had  been  born  a  housemaid, 
that  he  might  lean  his  ear  against  the  keyhole  with- 
out any  shame  at  the  eavesdropping.  He  stood 
at  the  stair-foot  gazing  at  the  door  as  though  his 
eyes  would  melt  the  oak  by  the  ardour  of  their 
look.  Above  the  voices  laughed,  the  smooth  music 
murmured  of  all  soft  pleasures.  Here,  in  the 
quiet  of  the  hall,  Wogan  began  to  think  the  door 
would   never  open;   he  had  a  foolish  fancy  that  he 


PARSON    KELLY  263 

was  staring  at  the  lid  of  a  coffin  sealed  down  until  the 
Judgment  Day,  and  indeed  the  room  might  prove  a 
coffin.  He  looked  at  his  watch;  only  a  poor  quarter 
of  an  hour  had  passed  since  the  door  had  closed. 
Wogan  could  not  believe  it;  he  shook  his  watch  in 
the  belief  that  it  had  stopped,  and  then  a  hubbub 
arose  in  the  street.  The  noise  drew  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  Wogan  could  distinguish  the  shouts  of 
newsboys  crying  their  papers.  What  they  cried  as 
yet  he  could  not  hear.  In  the  great  room  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs  the  voices  of  a  sudden  ceased ; 
here  and  there  a  window  was  thrown  open.  The 
ominous  din  rang  through  the  open  windows  and 
floated  down  the  stairs,  first  the  vague  cries,  then  the 
sound  of  running  feet,  and  last  of  all  the  words,  clear 
as  a  knell : 

'  Bloody  Popish  Plot !  A  Plot  discovered  ! ' 
So  Lady  Oxford  had  played  her  cards.  The  plot 
was  out ;  Scrope  was  in  the  street ;  the  Parson  was 
trapped.  Wogan  determined  to  open  that  door. 
He  took  his  hand  from  the  balustrade,  but  before  he 
had  advanced  a  step,  the  door  was  opened  from 
within.  Her  ladyship  sailed  forth  upon  Mr.  Kelly's 
arm,  radiant  with  smiles ;  and,  to  Wogan's  astonish- 
ment, Kelly  in  the  matter  of  good  humour  seemed  in 
no  wise  behind  her. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

STROKE   AND   COUNTER-STROKE 

THOSE  fifteen  minutes  had  none  the  less  proved 
a  mauvais  quart  dWieure  for  Mr.  Kelly.  As 
he  entered  the  room,  the  memories  of  the  grey 
morning  when  first  he  stood  there  were  heavy  upon 
his  thoughts.  A  cheerful  fire  burnt  upon  the  hearth 
now  as  then.  There  was  the  settee  on  which  her 
ladyship  had  lain  in  her  pretended  swoon.  The  text 
which  he  had  read  in  the  Deanery  recurred  to  him : 
'  Her  ways  are  the  ways  of  Death ;  her  feet  take 
hold  on  Hell.'  Through  the  open  door  came  the 
sound  of  music  and  the  words  jangled  through 
Kelly's  mind  to  the  tune. 

Lady  Oxford  closed  the  door;  as  the  latch  caught, 
Kelly  lifted  his  head  and  faced  her.  On  that  first 
occasion  her  ladyship  had  worn  a  mask,  and  in  truth 
she  wore  no  mask  now.  A  cruel  smile  played  about 
her  lips;  a  cruel  light  glittered  in  her  eyes.  She 
looked  him  over  with  triumph,  as  though  he  were 
her  captive  bound  hand  and  foot.  The  look  braced 
Mr.  Kelly.  He  started  from  his  memories  as  a  man 
starts  up  from  sleep;  he  lived  alert  and  complete  in 
the  moments  as  they  passed.  Rose,  the  King's 
papers,    his    own    liberty  —  this   was  his  new  text. 


PARSON    KELLY  265 

Her  ladyship  could  be  trusted  to  give  a  sufficient 
exposition  of  the  other. 

She  seated  herself,  and  with  her  fan  beckoned 
him  to  a  chair. 

'  We  have  much  to  speak  of,  sir.  I  hear  that  I 
have  to  make  you  my  congratulations,  and  to  pay 
you  my  thanks.  You  may  conceive  with  what 
sincerity. ' 

Mr.  Kelly  remained  standing  by  the  fireside. 

'  For  what  services  does  your  ladyship  thank  me  ? ' 

*  You  have  made  me  a  tavern-jest.  I  have  to 
thank  you  for  a  ballad. ' 

Mr.  Kelly  did  not  deny  or  argue  the  point.  His 
pressing  business  was  to  know  what  Lady  Oxford 
intended. 

*  And  on  what  fortunate  event  does  your  ladyship 
congratulate  me } ' 

'  Are  there  so  many  fortunate  events  in  the  life 
of  an  Irish  runagate  and  traitor.?  On  your  happy 
marriage,  sir,  with  the  starving  apothecary's 
daughter. ' 

Mr.  Kelly  laughed  pleasantly. 

*  Your  ladyship  is  pleased  to  be  facetious.  Upon 
my  honour,  I  know  no  such  woman, '  he  said,  think- 
ing thus  to  provoke  her  to  disclose  her  purposes. 

Lady  Oxford,  to  his  surprise,  rose  up  with  a 
joyful  air.  '  I  knew  it,'  she  cried.  '  I  knew  the 
story  of  the  girl  was  the  idle  talk  of  the  Cocoa  Tree. 
And  Lady  Mary  thought  to  stab  me  with  the  cruel 
news.  Ah,  if  the  honour  of  my  Strephon  be  pledged, 
his  Smilinda's  anger  vanishes.' 

Here  she  threw  her  arms  about  Kelly's  neck,  in  a 
very  particular  embrace,   as  if  she  would  kiss  him. 


266  PARSON    KELLY 

But  she  refrained  from  such  a  caress.  Her  arms 
were  clasped  tighter  and  yet  more  tight  till  Kelly 
could  scarcely  breathe,  and  her  cold  whispering 
mouth  touched  his  ear. 

'  There  was,  then,  no  starving  apothecary  ? ' 

'None,    madam.      You    have   been   misinformed.' 

The  embrace  grew  deadly  tight.  He  could  not 
have  thought  that  a  woman  had  such  strength  in  her 
arms. 

'No  man  named  Townley.-'  No  daughter  Rose.'' 
No  wound.''  No  nursing.^  No  love-vows.''  No  dog 
Harlequin  ?  No  betrothal  ?  Liar  !  '  she  whispered 
in  a  strange  voice,  '  I  see  your  miss's  ring  upon  your 
finger.  I  saw  my  portrait  upon  her  breast.  Did 
she  steal  it?  'Tis  like  enough.  But  'tis  likelier 
that  you  lie  !  ' 

'Your  ladyship  misunderstands, '  said  Kelly.  'I 
denied  that  there  was  a  starving  apothecary's 
daughter.  I  did  not  deny  that  there  was  a  man 
named  Townley,  who,  by  the  way,  is  your  lady- 
ship's guest.  I  did  not  deny  there  was  a  daughter 
Rose ' 

*  Go !  '  she  cried  suddenly,  releasing  Kelly,  and 
pushing  him  off.  '  I  know  everything,  everything. 
Go,  traitor  to  your  King  and  to  your  word !  And 
when  you  are  hanged,  but  not  till  yon  are  dead, 
remember  that  you  have  made  a  toy  and  jest  of  fne, 
babbling  to  your  Lady  Marys  and  your  Wogans. ' 

She  flung  herself  back  on  a  settee  panting  and 
tearing  her  laced  handkerchief  into  shreds.  Kelly 
waited  a  little  for  her  to  recover  her  composure. 

'Madam,'  he  said,  'in  the  fatal  circumstances 
you  mention  with  such  relish,  it  is  certainly  not  of 


PARSON    KELLY  267 

you  that  I  shall  think,  though  in  less  painful 
moments  I  shall  ever  do  so  with  honour  and  grati- 
tude. As  for  what  you  say  of  my  babbling,  I  pro- 
test my  innocence  before  Heaven.  Your  ladyship 
forgets  that  you  have  an  enemy  from  whom  it  was 
my  good  fortune  once  to  defend  you. ' 

Lady  Oxford  dropped  her  handkerchief  and  sat 
forward  staring  doubtfully  at  Kelly,  who  at  once 
pressed  his  advantage. 

'  It  was  into  this  room  that  I  then  had  the  honour 
of  escorting  your  ladyship.  Upon  that  occasion,  if 
I  may  be  pardoned  for  reminding  you,  what  appears 
now  to  be  treachery  in  me,  seemed  more  akin  to 
loyalty.  But  though  the  sentiments  of  your  lady- 
ship have  suffered  a  change  since  then,  those  of  Mr. 
Scrope  have  not.  It  was  he  who  had  attacked  you 
then;  it  is  he  who  attacks  you  now,  and,  believe 
me,  it  is  my  regret  that  I  was  not  again  at  hand  to 
defend  you. ' 

The  Parson  should  have  stopped  before  those  last 
few  words  were  spoken.  He  spoke  them  in  all 
sincerity,  but  they  lost  him  the  advantage  he  had 
gained,  for  it  was  not  in  Lady  Oxford's  nature  to 
believe  them.  She  made  her  profit  out  of  her 
lovers'  sincerity,  yet  could  not  comprehend  it.  It 
seemed  almost  as  though  some  instinct  led  her  to 
choose  them  for  that  very  quality,  with  which  her 
judgment  could  not  credit  them. 

'  A  fine  story,'  she  exclaimed  with  a  sneer,  'and 
no  doubt  the  apothecary's  daughter  would  be  entirely 
content  with  it,  but  I  know  you  lie.' 

Kelly  bowed  in  silence. 

*  Wait,'  she  said,  mistaking  the  bow,  for  Mr.  Kelly 


268  PARSON    KELLY 

had  a  certain  question  to  ask  before  he  returned  to 
the  company  ;  '  we  must  appear  together. ' 

She  took  in  her  hand  a  box  of  lace  which  had 
been  placed  ready  in  the  room. 

*  Your  hand,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Johnson,  for  the 
last  time.  You  are  going,  sir,  to  your  death  by 
rope  and  knife,   or  by  point  of  sword. ' 

Mr.  Kelly  gave  Lady  Oxford  his  hand,  and  put 
his   question : 

'  Your  Ladyship  has  no  fear  that  I  shall  escape.? ' 

Her  ladyship  had  none  whatever,  as  her  smile 
clearly  showed. 

'  Then  perhaps  your  ladyship  will  inform  me  how 
much  liberty  I  have  still  left  to  me.' 

'You  have  to-night  free,'  she  answered,  and  as 
he  heard  the  words  Kelly's  heart  gave  a  great  leap 
within  him.  '  So  much  reprieve  you  have.  But 
you  must  not  go  till  I  dismiss  you.  Enjoy  your- 
self.'    She  took  Kelly's  hand  with  a  low  courtesy. 

He  had  to-night  free  !  At  all  events,  the  King's 
papers  would  be  saved.  If  all  else  went  down,  the 
papers  would  be  saved.  So  it  came  about  that  he 
met  Wogan  at  the  stair-foot  with  a  smiling  face. 

In  the  withdrawing-room  the  clatter  of  tongues 
had  begun  again,  so  that  neither  Lady  Oxford  nor 
the  Parson  distinguished  the  shouts  of  the  news- 
boys, as  they  mounted  the  stairs.  To  Mr.  Wogan, 
indeed,  who  followed  upon  their  heels,  the  words  no 
longer  rose  clear  and  audible.  But  as  they  entered 
the  room,  it  was  plain  something  was  stirring. 
The  windows  stood  open,  gentlemen  leaned  out, 
ladies  asked  questions;  about  each  window  there 
was  a  restless,  noisy  group.     The  candles  guttered 


PARSON    KELLY  269 

in  the  wind ;  the  card-tables  were  deserted ;  and 
straight  in  front  of  him  Mr.  Wogan  saw  Rose,  her 
hands  clasped  in  an  extremity  of  apprehension. 
Colonel  Montague  stood  beside  her  chatting  easily 
and  making  as  though  he  remarked  nothing  of  her 
uneasiness. 

Then  the  hoarse  cries  again  rang  through  the 
room. 

'  Bloody  Popish  Plot '     '  A  Plot  discovered. ' 

'  What,  yet  another  Plot?  '  said  Mr.  Wogan  smil- 
ing to  Lady  Oxford. 

*  Mr.  Walpole  discovers  plots  by  the  dozen;  he  is 
the  most  active  of  our  guardians,'  said  Kelly  easily. 
He  dared  not  look  at  Rose. 

'We  must  hear  more  of  it,'  said  Lady  Oxford 
pleasantly,  and  calling  her  black  boy:  '  Run,  Sambo, 
bring  this  late-flying  night-bird  of  ill  omen. ' 

The  boy  grinned,  and  ran  away  upon  his  errand. 
Lady  Oxford  came  up  to  my  Lady  Mary  Montagu. 

'  See,  madam,'  she  cried,  opening  the  box  of  lace 
with  the  air  of  a  child  that  has  a  new  toy. 

'  See  what  this  kind  obliger  has  brought  me  from 
the  looms  of  the  Fairy  Queen.  All  point  d'Alencon 
of  the  finest.  Yes,  you  may  well  look  envious. 
Here  is  meat  for  a  Queen. ' 

The  other  ladies,  deserting  the  windows  when 
they  heard  that  magical  word  '  lace, '  crowded 
round,  and  Kelly  was,  where  many  a  pretty  fellow 
would  have  loved  to  be,  in  the  centre  of  a  perfumed 
world  of  fans  and  hoops,  of  sparkling  eyes  and 
patched  faces.  Kelly,  however,  had  other  business 
on  hand,  and,  slipping  through  the  group  while  Lady 
Oxford  was  praising  her  lace,  he  drew  Wogan  aside 


2  70  PARSON    KELLY 

to  a  window  now  deserted.     There  he  told  him  of 
his  conversation  with  Lady  Oxford. 

*  So  you  see,  Nick,  I  have  to-night  free.  I  mean 
to  run  to  my  lodging,  burn  the  papers,  and  then  — 
why  one  has  a  night  free.  I  may  yet  outwit  my 
lady.  Besides,  the  papers  once  burned,  there 's 
little  proof  to  condemn  me.  Speak  to  Rose,  Nick ! 
She  will  believe  j<?;^;  you  never  lied  to  her.  Tell 
her  there's  no  need  to  despair.  Then  make  speed 
to  the  coast.      I  must  go  to  Ryder  Street. ' 

As  he  turned,  Nick  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

'  You  must  not  go  yet. ' 

'Why.?' 

For  answer  Wogan  turned  to  the  window. 

'  Stand  here  in  the  shadow  of  the  curtain.  Across 
the  street;  there,  in  the  corner.' 

Kelly  put  his  hands  to  his  face  to  shut  out  the 
light  of  the  room,   and  peered  into  the  darkness. 

*  There  is  a  man.     Who  is  it  ? ' 

'  I  told  you  !  Scrope.  I  saw  him  an  hour  ago. 
A  link-boy's  torch  showed  me  his  face.  You  have 
to-night  free.  An  hour  or  so  more  will  make  little 
difference  to  you,  and  may  tire  out  our  friend  there 
—  or  he  may  mean  another  bout  with  the  sharps. ' 

'  I  hope  so,'  said  Kelly. 

At  this  moment  Sambo  returned  with  a  little 
damp  sheet  of  the  Flyhig  Post,  and  the  laces  were 
forgotten.      Sambo  carried  the  sheet  to  Lady  Oxford. 

'  Faugh, '  said  she,  '  I  dare  not  touch  the  inky 
thing!' 

Wogan  came  out  from  his  window,  where  he  left 
his  friend,  and  took  the  sheet  from  the  boy's  black 
paw. 


PARSON    KELLY  271 

'  Does  your  ladyship  wish  to  alarm  us  all  by 
reading  out  the  news?  These  Papists  are  terrible 
fellows. ' 

'  Read  !  Read !  '  said  Lady  Oxford,  with  a  con- 
tented laugh. 

Wogan  ran  his  eyes  over  the  print. 

'It  is  scarce  fit  for  ladies'  ears,'  he  said  mean- 
ingly. '  Some  nonsense  out  of  Grub  Street.  The 
wretch  should  be  whipped  from  Temple  Bar  to 
Westminster,'  and  Wogan  made  as  if  he  would  tear 
the  sheet. 

Her  ladyship  hesitated.  But  she  could  not  guess 
what  the  sheet  contained,  and  she  knew  Mr.  Wogan 
would  try  to  screen  his  friend. 

'Nay,  read  sir,'  she  said  boldly,  'or  must  I  im- 
peril my  own  fingers  with  the  foul  thing.''  ' 

Wogan  folded  the  paper,  and  with  a  bow  held  it 
out  to  her  ladyship;  again  she  hesitated;  she  did 
not  take  the  sheet;  she  looked  into  Wogan's  face  as 
though  she  would  read  the  news-sheet  there.  Curious 
smiles  began  to  show  upon  the  faces  about  her,  heads 
to  nod,  lips  to  whisper. 

'Shall  I  oblige  your  ladyship.'"'  asked  Mr. 
Methuen,   who  stood  by. 

'If  you  please,'  replied  Lady  Oxford,  but  in  a 
less  certain  tone  than  she  had  used  before. 

Mr.  Methuen  took  the  sheet  from  Wogan's  hand, 
unfolded  it,  and  glanced  at  it. 

*  It  is  indeed  scarce  fit  for  your  ladyship's  ears,' 
he  said ;  and  in  his  turn  he  folded  it. 

The  smiles  broadened,  the  whispers  increased. 
Lady  Oxford  was  altogether  disconcerted. 

'I  will  read  it,'  a  young  voice  rang  out.      Lord 


2  72  PARSON    KELLY 

Sidney  Beauclerk  stepped  forward,  took  the  sheet 
from  Mr.  Methuen,  and  at  once  read  it  aloud.  He 
began  defiantly,  but  towards  the  end  his  voice 
faltered.  Mr.  Kelly  did  not  turn  round,  and  seemed 
to  pay  no  heed  whatever. 

'  They  write  from  Paris  that  a  foul  Plot  against  the 
Throne,  and  even  the  sacred  Person  of  His  Most  Gracious 
Majesty  hath  been  discovered.  In  Town,  it  is  thought  that 
a  Lady  of  great  Beauty  who  has  a  Tory  Lord  of  advanced 
years  and  gouty  Habit  to  her  Husband,  and  a  young  Whig 
Officer  of  great  Promise  for  her  Friend,  hath  given  the  In- 
telligence to  the  Minister.  Nobody  has  yet  been  taken, 
but  the  Gentry  of  the  Silver  Greyhound  are  thought  to 
have  their  eyes  on  a  certain  Reverend  Nonjuror.  We  say 
no  more  for  the  present.' 

Lord  Sidney  crumpled  up  the  sheet,  and  retiring 
from  the  circle,  slowly  tore  it  in  pieces. 

*  To  be  sure,  they  say  quite  enough,'  murmured 
Lady  Mary,  and  no  one  else  spoke,  but  all  looked  to 
Lady  Oxford. 

Lady  Oxford  was  brave. 

In  the  silence  of  the  company  who  were  gathered 
round  she  spoke. 

'  Too  scurrilous  to  need  a  contradiction  !  Doubt- 
less it  is  I  and  my  kind  lace-dealer  who  are  aimed 
at.  Now  Mr.  Johnson  is  here,  and  is  my  guest. 
The  inference  is  plain.' 

Mr.  Johnson  turned  from  the  window  and  came 
up  to  the  group. 

'  My  confidence  in  her  ladyship  is  as  great  as  my 
certainty  that  there  is  no  Plot  in  which  I  am  con- 
cerned,' said  Kelly,  bowing  to  the  lady,  and  letting 
his   jolly  laugh  out   of  him   to  the   comfort  of  the 


PARSON    KELLY  273 

company  who  did  not  smoke  his  jest.      Mr.  Wogan 
admired  his  friend. 

It  was  now  become  impossible  for  Kelly  to  leave 
the  house.  Should  he  go  now,  his  going  would 
wear  all  the  appearances  of  a  hasty  flight,  and  who 
knew  but  what  some  of  Mr.  Walpole's  spies  might 
be  within  the  room  as  well  as  in  the  street.?  Kelly 
must  remain  and  brave  it  out,  as  he  clearly  recog- 
nised.    For, 

'  There  are  ears  to  be  cut  for  this, '  he  went  on, 
'  but  we  had  better  be  cutting  the  cards. ' 

'  Mr.  Johnson  holds  the  bank  with  me !  '  cried 
Lady  Oxford.  '  After  this  terrible  false  alarm  I  am 
ready  to  risk  all,  and  brave  everything.  I  must  win 
enough  to  pay  for  my  laces;  I  am  much  in  Mr. 
Johnson's  debt.      Sambo,   my  money  box.' 

The  black  boy  ran  out  of  the  room.  Mr.  Kelly 
walked  towards  the  card-table,  and  as  he  went,  a 
light  hand  was  laid  upon  his  arm,  and  Rose's  trem- 
bling voice  whispered  in  his  ear: 

*  George,  you  will  go.  Yes,  now,  to-night. 
There  may  yet  be  time  for  you  to  cross  to  France. ' 

Mr.  Kelly  was  comforted  beyond  words,  beyond 
belief.  Rose  knew,  and  she  forgave;  he  had  not 
thought  it  was  in  woman's  nature.  But  he  was  also 
tempted  to  fly ;  his  papers  unburned,  the  Cause  de- 
serted. The  hand  upon  his  sleeve  had  its  fingers 
on  his  heart-strings,  and  was  twanging  them  to  a 
very  pretty  tune.  A  few  strides  would  bring  him 
to  the  doorway,  a  couple  of  leaps  to  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  and  outside  was  the  night. 

'  You  will  go, '  she  repeated,  seeing  how  her  voice 

weakened  him.     '  Now  —  now. ' 

18 


2  74  PARSON   KELLY 

'  Yes  '  trembled  on  his  lips.  It  seemed  to  Rose 
in  her  great  longing  that  she  heard  the  word  breathed 
upon  the  air.  But  he  did  not  speak  it;  he  spoke  no 
word  at  all.  He  started,  his  mouth  dropped,  his 
blue  eyes  stared,  the  blood  was  drained  from  his 
cheeks.  He  stood  amazed,  like  one  that  sees  a 
ghost.  Rose  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes ; 
she  saw  the  guests,  the  tables,  the  candles,  but 
nothing  that  should  so  startle  her  lover. 

'  What  is  it  .-•  '  she  asked,  fearing  any  delay  that 
checked  the  assent  she  had  seen  tremble  on  his  lips. 
*  You  will  go !  You  will  go !  '  But  even  as  she 
spoke  she  knew  that  he  would  not  go.  His  face 
kept  its  pallor,  but  grew  resolute,  ennobled.  He 
had  ceased  to  think  of  his  own  safety. 

*  I  cannot  go,'  he  said. 

*  Why .? ' 

*  Mr.  Johnson,'  Lady  Oxford's  voice  broke  in. 
Sambo  had  returned  with  a  casket  curiously  enam- 
elled. 'Mr.  Johnson,'  said  she,  looking  into  the 
casket :  *  Some  five  hundred  pounds. ' 

'And  six  rouleaux,'  added  Kelly,  bringing  out 
the  spoils  of  Hazard  with  an  air. 

Rose  turned  away,  her  face  of  a  sudden  grown 
very  white  and  hard.  She  had  done  her  best  to 
make  Kelly  seek  safety,  and  he  would  not :  could 
she  do  more.'' 

The  Parson  crossed  suddenly  to  Wogan,  his  face 
very  pale,  but  with  a  wonderful  bright  light  in  his 
eyes. 

'  Nick,  I  have  seen  the  King,  here,  in  this  room, 
young,  happy.  The  shadow  of  the  hundred  years  of 
sorrow  of  his  race  has  lifted  from  his  forehead.' 


PARSON    KELLY  275 

*  The  King  is  at  Antwerp,  George.  You  have 
not  seen  him.' 

'  Then  it  is  his  spirit,  which  has  taken  form  to 
hearten  us,'  Kelly  whispered  in  a  voice  of  awe. 

'  George,  you  have  seen  Lord  Sidney  Beauclerk. ' 
It  needed  no  more  than  a  word  to  make  him  under- 
stand. He  had  not  seen  the  King  nor  the  King's 
appearance,  only  the  King's  cousin,  Lord  Sidney. 
But  now  he  could  not  forget  any  longer  that  the 
King's  papers  were  in  his  lodgings;  that  at  all  costs 
he  must  reach  his  lodgings  unfollowed;  that  at  all 
costs  those  papers  must  be  a  little  pile  of  ashes 
before  the  morning  came. 

'  The  bank  is  open, '  said  Lady  Oxford.  '  Colonel 
Montague,  will  you  find  a  lady  and  be  our  opposite.'' ' 

The  glum  Colonel  bowed  in  silence,  and  allied 
himself  with  silly  smiling  Lady  Rich.  The  play 
was  high.  The  luck  had  not  deserted  Kelly,  while 
Lady  Oxford  paid  him  a  hundred  flattering  compli- 
ments and  bantered  her  military  lover,  who  was  not 
ready  at  repartee  or  was  not  ready  then. 

'  Malhenreux  enjeti,'  said  Lady  Oxford,  repeating 
the  proverb  Lady  Mary  had  already  quoted  that 
evening.  *  How  fortunate,  Colonel,  must  be  your 
affections ! ' 

'  It  is  only  your  ladyship  who  has  all  the  luck 
and  wins,  or  wins  back  if  she  loses, '  answered  the 
Colonel,  looking  at  Mr.  Kelly  with  an  evil  favour, 
and  her  ladyship  laughed  in  pure  delight. 

There  was  another  game  besides  Quadrille  played 
at  that  table.  Lady  Oxford  was  setting  Colonel 
Montague  and  the  Parson  by  the  ears.  Did  she 
wish  to  embroil  them  in  a  quarrel  to  make  Kelly's 


276  PARSON    KELLY 

ruin  doubly  sure  ?  Wogan  watched  the  Colonel ; 
he  had  the  first  claim  upon  the  Colonel's  sword. 
Mr.  Kelly  kept  smiling  and  raking  in  the  rippling 
golden  stakes.  The  company  stood  round;  they 
had  left  their  tables  to  see  this  great  battle  of 
Quadrille.  At  times  Wogan  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Rose  Townley  through  a  gap  in  the  circle.  She 
could  not  know  why  her  lover  had  not  fled.  She 
only  knew  that,  in  her  despite,  he  stayed  in  the 
house  of  the  woman  of  whom  he  had  told  her  at 
Avignon,  though  his  life  was  in  peril ;  she  only  saw 
that  woman  fawning  upon  him,  and  him  smiling 
back  to  the  woman.  Lady  Mary  had  stolen  her 
hand  into  the  girl's,  that  no  doubt  was  cold  as 
marble,  and  in  his  heart  Wogan  blessed  her  kind 
ladyship.  At  last  all  the  tide  of  gold  had  turned  to 
Lady  Oxford's  side  of  the  table.  The  Colonel  rose 
and  confessed  defeat. 

People  began  to  say  their  good-byes.  Dr.  Townley 
crossed  the  room  to  his  daughter,  who  rose  at  once 
with  a  word  of  thanks  to  Lady  Mary.  Mr.  Kelly 
remarked  her  movement,  and  with  an  imploring 
look  bade  her  wait  until  Lady  Oxford  released  him. 

'Mr.  Johnson,'  said  her  ladyship,  dividing  the 
winnings,  '  short  accounts  make  long  friends.  I 
think  when  you  reckon  up  the  night  you  will  find 
that  all  my  great  debt  to  you  is  fully  paid.' 

Mr.  Kelly  bowed,  and  took  the  money,  his  eyes 
on  her  flushed  face  and  glittering  serpent's  eyes. 
Lady  Oxford  turned  to  Colonel  Montague. 

*  Your  revenge  is  waiting  for  you,  Colonel,  when- 
ever you  are  pleased  to  claim  it.  To-morrow  if 
you  will.' 


PARSON    KELLY  277 

'  Madam,  I  may  claim  my  revenge  to-night,'  said 
the  Colonel,  and  stepped  back  with  his  full  weight 
upon  Kelly's  foot.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
deliberate  movement.  Lady  Oxford  made  as  though 
she  had  not  seen  it,  but  as  she  turned  away  her  face 
had  a  look  of  pleasure,  which  Mr.  Kelly  remarked. 

*  Nay,  Colonel, '  said  Wogan,  '  you  and  I  have  a 
game  to  play,  you  remember.  Le  Queux's  is  still 
open  and  I  claim  the  first  call  on  your  leisure  at 
Hazard. ' 

Colonel  Montague  answered  Mr.  Wogan  with  a 
good-nature  which  the  latter  did  not  comprehend. 

*  I  have  indeed  some  words  to  say  to  you,  sir. ' 
'But,   Colonel,'  said  the  Parson,  'you  trod  upon 

my  foot.  I  shall  be  happy  to  consult  you  on  the 
bruise  to-morrow.  * 

'  To-morrow? '  said  Montague,  his  face  hardening 
instantly.  '  I  may  inquire  after  it  before  then, '  and 
so  making  his  bow  he  got  him  from  the  room. 

Lady  Oxford  gave  her  hand  to  Wogan  and  dis- 
missed him  with  a  friendly  word.  She  was  so 
occupied  with  the  pleasure  of  her  revenge  that  she 
had  altogether  forgotten  his  jest  about  the  ballad. 
Wogan  on  his  side  made  his  leave-taking  as  short 
as  could  be,  for  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  he  saw 
Kelly  offering  his  arm  to  Miss  Townley,  and  Kelly 
must  not  leave  the  house  without  Wogan  at  his 
side.  For,  in  the  first  place.  Colonel  Montague 
was  for  a  sure  thing  standing  sentinel  within  ten 
paces  of  the  door,  and  after  he  had  run  the  gauntlet 
of  the  Colonel,  there  was  Scrope  for  him  to  make 
his  account  with,  should  Scrope  attempt  to  follow 
in    his   tracks.      Mr.    Wogan    had  a  mind  to   insist 


278  PARSON    KELLY 

upon  his  first  claim  to  Colonel  Montague's  atten- 
tions, and,  once  they  were  rid  of  him,  it  would  not 
be  difficult  to  come  to  a  suitable  understanding  with 
Scrope  should  he  attempt  to  follow  them  to  Ryder 
Street. 

Mr.  Wogan  was  indeed  already  relishing  in  antici- 
pation the  half-hour  that  was  to  come,  and  hurried 
after  the  Parson,  who  was  by  this  time  close  to  the 
door  with  Rose  upon  his  arm  and  Dr.  Townley  at 
his  heels. 

'  Good  night,  Mr.  Johnson,'  said  her  ladyship  in 
a  lazy  voice.  '  Take  care  of  yourself,  for  they  tell 
me  the  streets  are  not  too  safe.' 

Kelly  dropped  Rose  Townley' s  arm  and  turned 
back  towards  Lady  Oxford. 

'But  surely,'  said  he  with  some  anxiety,  'to- 
night the  streets  are  safe.  Your  ladyship  assured 
me  of  their  safety  to-night. ' 

Lady  Oxford  made  no  reply  for  a  few  seconds,  she 
stood  watching  Kelly  with  an  indolent  smile.  A 
word  of  Lady  Mary's  came  back  to  Wogan's  mind 
—  a  word  spoken  two  years  since  in  Paris,  '  She  will 
play  cat  to  any  man's  mouse. ' 

'To-night.?'  said  Lady  Oxford,  lifting  her  eye- 
brows, and  she  glanced  towards  the  clock.  It  was 
five  minutes  to  one.  Kelly  stared  at  the  clock,  his 
mouth  open  and  his  eyes  fixed.  Then  he  drew  his 
hand  across  his  forehead,  and,  walking  slowly  to  the 
mantelpiece,  leaned  his  hands  on  it  in  a  broken 
attitude  and  so  stared  at  the  clock  again.  Lady 
Oxford  had  struck  her  last  blow,  and  the  last  was 
the  heaviest.  Kelly  had  the  night  free,  but  the 
night   was   gone  —  and   the   streets  were   not   safe. 


PARSON    KELLY  279 

Nothing  could  be  saved  now  —  not  even  the  King's 
papers.  Then  Wogan  saw  a  change  come  over  his 
face.  The  despair  died  out  of  it  and  left  it  blank  as 
a  shuttered  window.  But  very  slowly  the  shutter 
opened.  He  was  thinking;  the  thought  became  a 
hope,  the  hope  a  resolve.  First  his  knees  straight- 
ened, then  the  rounded  shoulders  rose  stiff  and 
strong.     In  his  turn  Kelly  struck. 

*  Your  ladyship, '  he  said,  '  was  kind  enough  some 
time  ago  to  entrust  me  with  your  own  brocades. 
Those  brocades  are  in  the  strong  box  in  my  lodgings. ' 

Wogan  understood.  Brocades  was  the  name  for 
letters  in  the  jargon  of  the  Plot.  Lady  Oxford's 
love-letters  were  in  that  box  which  he  had  handled 
that  very  afternoon.  If  Kelly  was  seized  in  the 
street  his  rooms  would  be  searched,  the  King's 
papers  found,  and,  with  the  King's  papers,  Lady 
Oxford's  love-letters.  Lady  Oxford  understood  too. 
Her  ingenious  stratagems  of  the  evening  to  dis- 
credit the  ballad  and  save  her  fair  fame  would  be  of 
little  avail  if  the  world  once  got  wind  of  those 
pretty  outpourings  of  Smilinda's  heart.  Her  face 
grew  very  white.  She  dropped  her  fan  and  stooped 
to  recover  it.  It  was  noticeable,  though  unnoticed, 
that  no  one  of  those  who  were  still  present  stepped 
forward  to  pick  up  the  fan.  Curiosity  held  them  in 
chains,  not  for  the  first  time  that  evening.  It  was 
as  though  they  stood  in  a  room  and  knew  that  behind 
locked  doors  two  people  were  engaged  in  a  duel. 
Now  and  then  a  clink  of  steel  would  assure  them 
that  a  thrust  was  made;  but  how  the  duel  went  they 
could  not  tell. 

When  Lady  Oxford  rose  her  colour  had  returned. 


2  8o  PARSON    KELLY 

*  My  brocades  ? '  she  said.  '  Indeed,  I  had  purely 
forgotten  them.  You  have  had  them  repaired  in 
Paris?' 

'  Yes,  madam, '  answered  Kelly  deliberately.  *  I 
do  not  think  the  streets  are  so  unsafe  as  your  lady- 
ship supposes;  but  I  should  be  sorry  for  them  to  fall 
into  any  hands  but  your  own  if  by  any  chance  foot- 
pads end  my  days  to-night. ' 

He  bowed  and  walked  towards  Rose  Townley  and 
her  father,  who  stood  in  the  doorway  at  a  loss  what 
to  make  of  the  scene.  He  had  crossed  half  the  dis- 
tance before  Lady  Oxford  moved.  Then,  it  seemed 
with  one  swift  step,  she  stood  at  Kelly's  side. 

'Mr.  Johnson,  you  are  my  prisoner!'  she  ex- 
claimed. *  My  dear  brocades !  Mr.  Johnson,  you 
are  surely  the  most  attentive  of  men.  You  must 
tell  me  how  they  have  been  repaired ;  I  shall  not 
close  my  eyes  unless  you  take  pity  on  my  impa- 
tience. ' 

Had  Kelly  been  the  man  to  care  for  triumphs 
wrested  from  a  woman,  he  would  have  found  his 
occasion  now.  A  minute  before,  Lady  Oxford's 
eyes  glittered  with  menaces,  her  face  was  masterful; 
now,  her  eyes  besought  pity,  her  face  was  humbled. 

'  If  your  ladyship  will  permit  me,'  said  Kelly,  "I 
will  return  when  I  have  seen  Miss  Townley  to  her 
chair. ' 

It  was  a  difficult  moment  for  Miss  Townley.  For 
to  those  who  looked  on  it  seemed  that  by  some 
means  here  was  Mr.  Johnson  brought  back  into 
bondage  before  the  very  eyes  of  his  betrothed.  But 
Rose  was  patient  of  Lady  Mary's  lesson.  *  To- 
morrow give  him  his  cong^  \i  you  will;  to-night  be 


PARSON    KELLY  281 

staunch  !  It  is  for  life  and  honour !  '  She  knew  no 
more,  but  she  was  loyal.  Wogan  had  seen  men  go, 
for  the  Cause,  to  a  shameful  death  by  torture.  But 
he  never  saw  courage  so  unfaltering,  or  loyalty  so 
true,  as  this  girl's.  She  was  not  herself  in  that 
hour;  she  had  taken  up  a  part  as  an  actress  does, 
and  she  played  it  clean,  and  played  it  through. 
To-morrow  she  might  be  a  woman  again,  a  woman 
wronged,  deceived,  insulted ;  to-night,  with  the 
astonishing  valour  and  duplicity  of  her  sex,  she  was 
all  in  her  part,  to  see  nothing,  to  know  nothing,  to 
be  staunch. 

To  the  smiles,  the  simpered  sarcasms,  the  quiz- 
zing glances,  she  paid  no  heed.  She  said,  with  a 
simple  dignity,  to  Lady  Oxford: 

'  I  will  not  keep  Mr.  Johnson  long.  It  is  but  a 
few  steps  to  your  ladyship's  door,  where  my  chair 
waits  for  me,'  and  she  held  out  her  hand  to  Kelly. 
She  had  her  reward.  Kelly's  face  put  on  a  look  of 
pride  which  no  one  in  the  room  could  mistake.  He 
took  her  hand  with  a  laugh,  and  threw  back  his 
chest. 

*  I  will  return,  your  ladyship,'  he  said  gaily,  and 
with  Rose  passed  out  of  the  door.  The  whispers 
were  stilled;  the  couple  went  down  the  stairs  in  a 
great  silence.  Rose  bore  herself  bravely  until  she 
had  stepped  into  her  chair;  showed  a  brave  face 
then  at  the  window. 

*  I  shall  hear  of  you  from  France,'  she  whispered. 
'  Good-night. ' 

The  chair  was  carried  off;  Dr.  Townley  followed. 
The  Parson  returned  slowly  up  the  stairs.  His 
heart  was  full;  in  Rose's  eyes  he  had  seen  the  tears 


2  82  PARSON    KELLY 

gathering;  no  doubt  in  the  darkness  of  her  chair 
they  were  flowing  now.  She  would  hear  of  him 
from  France  !  Well,  he  had  his  one  weapon  —  Lady 
Oxford's  letters.  If  he  used  that  weapon  aright, 
why  should  she  not  hear  of  him  from  France.''  By 
the  time  he  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs,  he  was 
already  putting  together  the  words  of  the  letter  he 
should  write. 

When  he  re-entered  the  withdrawing-roora,  the 
last  few  guests,  of  whom  Wogan  was  one,  were  tak- 
ing their  departure.  Wogan  saw  Kelly  move 
towards  the  little  card-table  which  had  stood  empty. 
Kelly  sat  down,  and  with  the  fingers  of  one  hand  he 
played  with  the  cards,  cutting  them  unwittingly  as 
though  for  a  deal.  It  was,  after  all,  he  and  not 
Wogan  who  had  to  play  the  hand  with  the  shrouded 
figure.  Wogan  had  already  made  his  adieux.  As 
he  passed  out  of  the  door  Lady  Oxford  was  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  room  plucking  at  her  fan.  As 
he  went  down  the  stairs,  the  door  was  flung  to  with 
a  bang.      Lady  Oxford  and  Kelly  were  left  alone. 


CHAPTER   XX 

MR.     SCROPE   BATHES    BY    MOONLIGHT    AND    IN    HIS 

PERUKE 

WOGAN  had  heard  two  doors  shut  that  evening, 
and  with  very  different  feelings.  One  had 
been  latched  gently,  and  the  sound  had  filled  him 
with  apprehensions;  one  had  been  flung  to  with  an 
angry  violence,  and  the  sound  soothed  him  like  the 
crooning  of  music.  For  Kelly,  it  seemed,  after  all 
held  the  trumps  in  his  hand ;  he  had  but  to  play 
them  aright  and  the  game  was  his. 

'The  longer  he  takes  to  play  them  the  better,' 
murmured  Wogan,  as  he  stood  on  the  steps  of  Lady 
Oxford's  house  and  looked  briskly  about  him. 
For  to  his  left,  standing  openly  in  the  moonlight, 
he  saw  a  tall  martial  figure  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  and 
the  end  of  a  scabbard  shining  beneath  the  cloak, 
while  across  the  road  his  eyes  made  out  a  hunched 
form  blotted  against  the  wall.  The  figure  in  the 
cloak  was  Colonel  Montague;  the  skulker  would  no 
less  certainly  be  Mr.  Scrope.  If  the  Parson  would 
only  take  time  enough  to  deploy  his  arguments  like 
a  careful  general !  Mr.  Wogan  would  have  liked  to 
have  run  back  and  assured  Kelly  that  there  was  no 
need  whatever  for  hurry,  since  he  himself  had 
enough  amusements  on  his  hands  to  make  the 
time  pass  pleasantly. 


284  PARSON    KELLY 

He  advanced  to  the  Colonel  first. 

*  Sir,  it  is  now  to-morrow,  the  date  at  which  you 
kindly  promised  me  a  few  moments  of  vour  leisure. 
You  may  hear  the  chimes  of  the  Abbey  strike  the 
half  hour  after  one. ' 

'  Mr.  Wogan, '  replied  the  Colonel,  *  I  reckon  this 
yesterday  —  till  after  breakfast.  At  present  I  have 
an  engagement  with  another  person. ' 

'  Colonel  Montague,  your  reckoning  of  time  is 
contrary  to  the  almanac,  and  to  a  sound  metaphysic, 
of  which  I  am  the  ardent  advocate.  You  will  under- 
stand, sir,  that  such  a  difference  of  opinion  between 
gentlemen  admits  of  only  one  conclusion.' 

Colonel  Montague  smiled,  and  to  Wogan's  chagrin 
and  astonishment  replied : 

*  You  have  grown  a  foot,  or  thereby,  Mr.  Wogan, 
since  last  we  met,  on  an  occasion  which  you  will 
permit  me  to  say  that  I  can  never  forget.  All  our 
differences  are  sunk  for  ever  in  that  one  considera- 
tion. I  implore  you  to  leave  me  to  the  settlement 
of  my  pressing  business. ' 

So  the  Colonel  knew  of  that  unfortunate  rescue  at 
Preston.    Wogan,  however,  was  not  so  easily  put  off. 

'  Grown  a  foot,  sir !  '  he  cried.  '  I  am  not  the 
same  man  !  You  speak  of  a  boy,  who  died  long 
ago ;  if  he  made  a  mistake  in  saving  your  life,  over- 
look a  pure  accident,  and  oblige  me.' 

'  The  accident  does  not  remove  my  obligation.' 

'  If  you  knew  the  truth,  you  would  be  sensible 
that  there  was  no  obligation  in  the  matter.  Come, 
take  a  stroll  in  the  Park,  and  I  '11  tell  the  truth  of 
the  whole  matter  to  whichever  of  us  is  alive  to 
hear   it. ' 


PARSON    KELLY  285 

'  I  had  the  whole  truth  already,  to-night,  from 
the  young  lady. ' 

*  The  young  lady  ?  '  Wogan  had  told  Rose  Townley 
of  how  he  saved  the  life  of  a  Colonel  Montague,  and 
to-night  he  had  informed  her  that  this  Colonel  was 
the  man.  She  had  been  standing  by  his  elbow 
when  he  had  picked  his  quarrel  with  Montague. 
Sure  she  had  overheard  and  had  interfered  to  pre- 
vent it.  '  The  young  lady  ! '  he  cried.  '  All  women 
are  spoil-sports.  But,  Colonel,  you  must  not  be- 
lieve her.  I  made  a  great  deal  of  that  story  when  I 
told  it  to  Miss  Townley.  But  you  would  find  it  a 
very  simple  affair  if  you  had  it  from  an  eye-witness. ' 

The  Colonel  shook  his  head. 

'  Yet  the  story  was  very  circumstantial,  how  you 
leaped  from  the  barricades  —  ' 
'  That  were  but  two  feet  high.' 

*  And,  through  a  cross  fire  of  bullets,  crossed  the 
square  to  where  I  lay  —  ' 

*  The  fire  was  a  half  charge  of  duckshot  that  an 
old  fellow  let  off  by  mismanagement  from  a  rusty 
pistol.  Both  sides  stopped  firing  the  moment  I 
jumped  over  —  the  politest  thing.  I  might  have 
been  tripping  down  the  Mall  with  a  lady  on  my 
arm,  for  all  the  danger  I  ran.' 

'  But  your  wounds  ?  ' 

'  I  slipped  and  cut  my  shin  on  the  sharp  cobbles, 
that 's  true. ' 

'  Mr.  Wogan,  it  will  not  do  !  Had  I  known  your 
name  this  evening  when  Lady  Mary  made  us 
acquainted,  certain  expressions  properly  distasteful 
to  you  would  not  have  escaped  my  lips.  But  now  I 
can  make  amends  for  them  to  the  gallant  gentleman 


2  86  PARSON    KELLY 

who  brought  a  wounded  enemy  out  of  a  cross-fire. 
I  apologise  to  you,  but  I  cannot  oblige  you  to  the 
extent  you  wish,  however  you  may  attempt  to  make 
light  of  your  courage,  and  of  the  obligation  on  my 
side. ' 

'  Sure,  Colonel,  to  be  done  with  adornment  of 
the  real  truth,  I  only  saved  such  a  fine  man  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  killing  him  myself.' 

Here  the  Colonel  broke  into  a  laugh. 

'  Mr.  Wogan,  if  I  drew  my  sword  and  stood  up 
before  you  without  making  a  parry  or  a  lunge,  would 
you  kill  me  ? ' 

'  No,  indeed,  there  would  be  little  diversion  in 
that  game, '  said  Wogan,  who  was  now  grown  quite 
melancholic. 

'  Well,  that  is  the  utmost  you  will  get  from  me. 
I  am  much  pressed  for  time,  and  look  to  find 
another. ' 

'Another!'  Wogan's  failing  hopes  revived. 
'  Praise  be  to  the  Saints!  I  see  your  mistake,  and 
you  shall  understand  it  in  a  twinkling.  The  other 
and  myself  are  just  one  man  for  these  purposes. 
George  is  my  alter  ego.  We  are  the  greatest 
friends,  and  have  been  taken  for  each  other  when 
we  are  talking.  I  '11  talk  all  the  time  we  fight,  and 
you  can  fancy  it  is  George  whose  ribs  you  are  trying 
to  tickle. ' 

The  Colonel,  however,  was  obdurate,  and  before 
Wogan  could  hit  upon  a  likelier  argument  both 
gentlemen  heard  a  cough. 

Someone  was  standing  on  Lady  Oxford's  doorstep 
looking  towards  them. 

The  Colonel  coughed  in  reply,  and  the  figure  —  it 


PARSON    KELLY  287 

was  Mr.  Kelly's  —  waved  his  hand,  and  marched, 
like  the  ghost  of  Hamlet's  father,  toward  St.  James's 
Park. 

The  Colonel  followed,  like  Hamlet,  and  Mr, 
Wogan  followed  the  Colonel,  Would  there  be  a 
fourth  to  follow  Wogan  .-•  The  three  men  marched 
in  the  moonlight,  their  footsteps  rang  boldly  on  the 
road.  Was  there  a  fourth  behind  them  stealthily 
creeping  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall.-*  As  they 
turned  a  corner  out  of  the  square  Wogan  fell  a  little 
further  to  the  rear.  He  kept  his  head  screwed  upon 
his  shoulders,  and  he  saw  a  shadow  slink  round  the 
corner.  He  listened,  and  heard  the  stealthy  steps. 
He  stopped ;  the  steps  ceased.  Wogan  went  on 
again.     He  knew  that  Scrope  was  dogging  them. 

The  figure  in  front  moved  silently  on  till  he 
reached  a  sweet  spot  for  an  occasion,  a  little  clairib'e 
among  the  trees,  the  smoothest  sward,  moonlight  on 
the  grass,  dark  shadow  all  around.  There  he  stopped, 
turned,  and  dropped  his  cloak.  The  moon  shone 
silvery  on  the  silver  shoulder-knots  of  Mr.  Kelly. 
The  other  two  gentlemen  advanced. 

'  Nick, '  exclaimed  Kelly,  '  you  should  be  on  your 
road  to  the  coast. ' 

*  At  last !  '  cried  Colonel  Montague,  dropping  his 
cloak. 

'  A  moment,  sir,'  said  Kelly;  '  I  must  dismiss  my 
friend. ' 

'  And  would  you  be  so  mad  ?  Are  you  to  have 
nobody  to  see  fair  and  run  for  the  surgeon  while  the 
other  gentleman  makes  his  escape.?  George,  I 
never  knew  you  were  so  selfish.' 

Kelly  drew  his  friend  a  little  way  aside. 


288  PARSON    KELLY 

'  Nick,  I  have  that  to  do  which  cannot  be  done 
before  a  witness. ' 

Mr.  Wogan  merely  gaped  at  this  extraordinary- 
speech.  He  noticed  that  Kelly  looked  white  and 
haggard  even  for  a  man  in  the  full  moonlight. 

'  When  I  tell  you  that  my  honour  hangs  on  it,  that 
a  witness  is  mere  ruin,  when  I  pray  you  by  our  old 
friendship?  Nick,  you  must  go  out  of  eye-shot  and 
ear-shot. ' 

'  I  think  you  are  crazed,'  said  Wogan. 

'  I  have  obeyed  you  all  night.  Things  have  taken 
the  turn  that  you  must  obey  me.  There  is  no  time 
for  an  explanation,  the  hour  presses,  and,  Nick,  my 
honour  hangs  on  it.  You  must  retire  to  where  you 
can  neither  see  nor  hear  us,  or  I  am  shamed  —  lost 
with  the  Cause. ' 

Mr.  Kelly  had  been  whispering,  his  voice 
trembled  as  the  Cause  was  named.  Wogan  had 
only  once  seen  him  thus  moved.  Had  he  played  his 
trumps  amiss  after  all.''  It  seemed  he  had  not  won 
the  game. 

'Very  well,'  said  Wogan.  'Good-night.  I  will 
take  care  you  are  not  troubled  with  witnesses. ' 

'No,'  said  Kelly  suddenly,  and  then  'yes;  good- 
night.' 

He  stood  looking  at  Wogan  a  moment  and  then 
hurried  off  to  the  Colonel,  who  seemed,  to  Wogan's 
judgment,  a  man  apt  to  give  the  Parson  his  bellyful. 
Wogan  twitched  his  cloak  about  him,  and  took  his 
road  down  a  path,  bordered  by  bushes.  It  was  the 
path  by  which  they  had  come  into  the  Park.  Wogan 
was  determined  that  the  Parson  should  not  be 
troubled  by  witnesses. 


PARSON    KELLY  289 

From  his  boyhood  Mr,  Wogan  has  had  a  singular 
passion  for  bird's-nesting.  He  idly  scanned  the 
bushes  as  he  marched,  for  he  had  heard  a  twig  snap, 
and  in  a  thick  bush  he  saw  what  at  a  first  glance  cer- 
tainly resembled  a  very  large  brown  bird's-nest. 
Looking  more  narrowly  at  this  curiosity  there  were 
shining  eyes  under  the  nest,  a  circumstance  rarely 
found  in  animated  nature. 

Mr.  Wogan  paused  and  contemplated  this  novelty. 
The  bush  was  deep;  the  novelty  was  of  difficult 
access  because  of  the  tangled  boughs.  Wogan  reck- 
oned it  good  to  show  a  puzzled  and  bemused  de- 
meanour, as  of  one  who  has  moored  himself  by  the 
punch-bowl. 

'  It 's  a  very  fine  bird,'  he  said  aloud.  '  I  wonder 
what  is  the  exact  species  this  fine  fowl  may  belong 
to.?' 

Then  he  wagged  his  head  in  a  tipsy  manner,  and 
so  lurched  down  the  path  singing : 

'  I  heard  a  bird 

Sing  in  a  bush, 
And  on  his  head 

Was  a  bowl  of  punch, 
La-la-loodie  / ' 

But  Wogan's  eye  was  cocked  back  over  his 
shoulder,  for  he  hoped  that  the  fowl,  thinking  the 
hunter  gone,  would  save  him  trouble  by  breaking 
cover.  The  bush  did  not  stir,  however;  all  was 
deadly  still. 

Wogan  lurched  back  to  the  bush,  still  singing, 
parted  the  branches,  and  peered  in.  His  mind,  in 
fact,  was  quite  fixed  as  to  the  nature  and  name  of 
this  nocturnal  fowl. 

19 


290  PARSON    KELLY 

He  spied  into  the  bush.  '  I  have  heard,  in 
France,  of  a  bird  called  "the  cuckoo  Kelly,"'  he 
said,  *  I  wonder  if  this  can  be  le  cocu  Scrope? ' 

Something  glittered  in  the  heart  of  the  bush. 
Mr.  Wogan  leaped  aside,  his  hat  spun  round  on  his 
head,  he  was  near  blinded  by  the  flame  and  smoke 
of  a  pistol  discharged  almost  a  bout  portant.  A 
figure  had  scrambled  out  of  the  bush  on  the  further 
side,  and  was  running  at  a  great  pace  towards  St. 
James's. 

Mr.  Wogan  gave  a  view  halloo,  and  set  off  at  the 
top  of  his  own  pace  in  pursuit.  He  was  swift  of 
foot  when  young,  sound  of  wind,  and  long  of 
stride. 

At  every  step  he  gained  on  the  flying  figure, 
which,  he  happily  remembered,  might  be  armed 
with  another  pistol.  These  commodities  usually  go 
in  pairs.  Reflecting  on  this,  and  reckoning  his 
distance  to  a  mathematical  nicety,  Mr.  Wogan 
applied  his  toe  to  that  part  of  the  flying  gentleman's 
figure  which  he  judged  most  accessible  and  most 
appropriate  to  his  purpose.  The  flying  gentleman 
soared  softly  into  a  parabola,  coming  down  with  a 
crash,  while  a  pistol  fell  from  his  hand.  As  the 
priming  was  spilled,  Mr.  Wogan  let  the  weapon  lie, 
and  courteously  assisted  the  prostrate  person  to 
rise. 

'  I  fear  I  stumbled  over  you,  sir, '  he  said.  *  I 
hope  I  was  not  so  unfortunate  as  to  hurt  you.  Why, 
't  is  Mr.  Scrope,  the  celebrated  critic  and  amateur 
of  Virgil.     Mr.  Scrope,  the  writer  of  ballads. ' 

'  You  are  a  brutal  Irish  bully, '  said  Scrope,  whose 
hands  and  face  were  bleeding,  for  he  had  the  mis- 


PARSON    KELLY  291 

chance  to  slip  on  a  gravel  path  covered  with  sharp 
little  flints  at  the  top  of  the  Canal. 

'  Nay,  when  last  we  met  it  was  my  poetry  that 
you  criticised,  and  now  't  is  my  manners  that  do  not 
please  you!  How  could  I  guess  that  it  was  Mr. 
Scrope  who  lay  in  a  bush  to  watch  an  explanation 
between  gentlemen.''  This  time,  sir,  of  your  flight, 
you  have  not  two  horses  to  carry  you  off,  and  I  am 
not  barefoot.  Suppose  we  take  up  our  conversation 
where  we  left  it  when  last  you  ran  away.-*  You 
have  a  sword  I  see.' 

Scrope' s  sword  was  already  out,  and  he  made  a 
desperate  pass  at  Wogan,  who  broke  ground  and 
drew  his  own  weapon.  Scrope  was  no  match  for  his 
reach  and  skill  in  fence. 

*  Why,  sir,  our  positions  are  altered,'  said  Wogan. 
'  Now  it  is  you  who  make  errors,  and  I  who  play 
critic  and  instructor. ' 

Wogan  made  a  parade  in  contre  de  carte. 

'  Look,  sir,  your  blade  was  beaten  a  good  half  foot 
out  of  line.  Had  I  chosen  to  riposte,  my  sword- 
hilt  would  have  rung  on  your  breast-bone.  Ah, 
that  was  rather  better,'  he  said,  stepping  a  pace 
back,  and  offering  his  breast  full  like  a  fencing 
master  with  his  pupil.  '  But  you  did  not  really 
extend  yourself.  Now,  sir,  U7i,  deux,  doubles, 
d^gagez,  vite ! '  and  Mr.  Wogan  passed  his  sword 
through  the  lappet  of  Scrope' s  coat,  coming  back 
on  guard.  *  That  is  how  you  ought  to  lunge.  There 
is  another  thing  that  I  would  have  you  notice. 
Coming  on  rashly  as  you  do,  I  could  stop  you  at  any 
moment  with  a  time  thrust.  I  have  only  to  extend 
my  long  arm,  and  where  are  you  ?  * 


292  PARSON    KELLY 

Scrope  broke  ground,  sweating,  and  drew  breath : 

'You  cowardly  maitre  d'armes!'  he  exclaimed 
between  two  pants. 

'Cowardly,  sir?  Am  I  a  spy?  Or  a  nameless, 
obscene  rhymer?  Do  I  carry  pistols  and  try  to  use 
them  ?  Fie,  Mr.  Scrope,  you  must  see  that  a 
coward  who  meant  to  kill  you  would  have  done  so 
long  ago,  and  left  you  here  —  with  an  insult,  and 
without  a  surgeon.  You  remember  the  little  square 
at  Avignon.     You  want  another  lesson. ' 

Wogan  parried,  riposted,  and  just  grazed  his  oppo- 
nent on  the  fore-arm. 

'  Toiiche !  '  he  said.  '  Now  you  see  I  do  not  mean 
to  kill  you :  at  least,  not  with  the  sword.  To  do  so 
would  be  to  oblige  a  lady  whom  I  have  no  desire  to 
please.  Would  you  prefer  to  lay  down  your  weapon 
and  come  frankly  to  my  embrace?  You  remember 
our  fond  hugs  at  Brampton  Bryan?  By  the  way, 
Mr.  Scrope,'  asked  Wogan,  as  an  idea  occurred  to 
him,  '  the  night  is  warm  and  you  seem  heated,  do 
you  swim  ?  The  place  is  convenient  for  a  bathe, 
and  sheltered  from  coarse  observation. ' 

With  this  remark  Wogan  switched  Scrope's  sword 
out  of  his  hand  by  a  turn  of  the  wrist  m  flanconade. 
The  blade  flew  up  and  fell  flashing  in  the  water  of 
the  Canal. 

"Now,  sir,  your  life  is  at  my  mercy.  You  have 
betrayed  my  Cause;  you  have  nearly  murdered  my 
friend;  you  have  insulted  two  ladies  of  my  acquaint- 
ance; you  have  censured  my  poetry;  and  you  have 
spoiled  my  hat  with  your  pistol  bullet.  I  repeat, 
do  you  swim?  There  are  two  places  here  mighty 
convenient  for  a  ducking.' 


PARSON    KELLY  293 

Here  Mr.  Wogan  caught  his  enemy  by  the  collar. 

'  The  Canal  is  shallow;  Rosamond's  Pool  is  deep. 
You  have  your  choice;  safety  and  prose,  or  poetry 
and  peril  ?  ' 

Scrope  was  squirming  in  Wogan's  grip  like  a  ser- 
pent. When  Mr.  Wogan  had  calmed  him  he 
carried  Mr.  Scrope  like  a  babe  to  the  edge  of  the 
Canal. 

'  One,  two,  three ! '  he  said,  heaving  Mr.  Scrope 
backward  and  forward,  like  children  setting  a  swing 
in  motion.     '  And  away ! ' 

A  heavy  body  flew  through  the  air,  flashed  into 
the  Canal,  and  did  not  at  first  arise  to  the  surface. 

'  I  hope  he  has  not  hit  his  head  or  broken  his 
neck,'  said  Wogan  with  anxiety.  '  It  would  be  very 
disagreeable  to  have  to  wade  for  him.' 

His  fears  were  soon  set  at  rest.  Scrope  scrambled 
to  his  feet,  the  water  reaching  nearly  to  his  middle. 
In  his  dripping  perruque  he  cut  a  figure  odd  enough, 
and  sufficiently  pitiable. 

*  A  water  god  !  A  Triton  ! '  cried  Wogan.  '  Have 
you  a  Virgil  in  your  pocket.'*  You  might  study  the 
marine  deities  whom  you  resemble.  You  are  sure 
you  have  again  forgotten  to  bring  the  Virgil  you 
desired  for  Mr.   Kelly's  use  at  Avignon. 

*  D n  you,    I   shall   see   your   bowels   burned 

before  your  eyes  for  this,  you  Popish  traitor,"  cried 
Scrope,  shaking  his  fist. 

*  That  is  as  may  be.  You  have  done  what  you 
can  to  that  end  already.  You  have  told  all  you 
know ;  as  regards  myself  it  is  not  very  much,  and  I 
am  not  in  Newgate  yet.  Moreover,  I  know  a  way 
out.     But   stop,    I   cannot   possibly  permit   you   to 


294  PARSON    KELLY 

land,  for  Scrope  was  wading  to  the  bank.  *  Stay 
where  you  are  and  admire  the  moonshine!  If  you 
set  foot  on  shore  I  will  merely  throw  you  in  again ! 
You  might  be  hurt. 

Scrope  turned  and  was  beginning  to  wade  to  the 
other  side  of  the  Canal. 

*  It  really  is  not  safe  in  the  middle  if  you  do  not 
swim,'  cried  Wogan.  '  Moreover,  I  can  easily  be  at 
the  further  bank  before  you. '  Mr.  Wogan  suited 
the  action  to  the  word.  He  ran  round  the  bank  as 
Scrope  waded  across.  He  met  his  bedraggled  vic- 
tim at  the  water's  edge.  Mr.  Wogan  uttered  a  joy- 
ful whoop;  there  was  a  great  splash  and  again 
Scrope  sank  beneath  the  surface.  He  regained  his 
feet  and  rose  spluttering.  '  I  do  trust,  Mr.  Scrope, 
that  you  are  not  hectic,  or  subject  to  rheumatism,' 
said  Wogan  with  sympathy. 

Wogan  walked  to  the  centre  of  the  path  across  the 
top  of  the  Canal.  He  spread  his  cloak  upon  the 
grass  and  sat  down,  contemplating  the  moonlight  on 
Buckingham  House.  There  was  a  sweet  odour  of 
the  budding  may  in  the  air. 

*A  more  peaceful  scene,  Mr.  Scrope,'  he  cried, 
'  I  have  rarely  witnessed.  All  the  poet  whom  you 
tried  to  crush  wakes  in  my  bosom.  I  shall  recite 
Mr.  Pope's  celebrated  Night  piece  for  your  benefit.' 

Mr.  Wogan  then  arose  from  his  seat  on  the  grass, 
and,  raising  his  hand  towards  the  Moon,  delivered 
Mr.  Pope's  lines  in  his  best  manner. 

'  As  when  the  Moon,  refulgent  lamp  of  Night, 
O'er  Heaven's  clear  azure  spreads  her  sacred  light. 
When  not  a  breath  disturbs  the  deep  serene, 
And  not  a  cloud  o'erspreads  the  solemn  scene.' 


PARSON   KELLY  295 

'  You  are  not  listening,  Mr.  Scrope! ' 

Scrope  was  listening,  but  not  to  Wogan.  Wogan 
ceased  from  reciting  and  listened  also.  He  heard 
steps  and  voices  of  men  approaching.  Presently,  to 
his  great  amazement,  he  recognised  the  tones  of 
Kelly  and  Montague,  whose  mere  existence  had  been 
banished  from  his  mind.  He  was  yet  more  sur- 
prised when  they  both  came  in  view,  walking  very 
friendly  together. 

Wogan  rose  as  they  drew  near  him. 

'  What,  both  of  you  ? '  he  exclaimed. 

*  You  do  not  seem  to  be  glad  to  see  us  again,  sir.^ ' 
said  Colonel  Montague. 

'  And  devil  a  scratch  between  the  pair  of  you ! ' 
cried  Mr.  Wogan.  '  George,  what  does  this  mean  ? 
Am  I  to  hear,'  he  asked  with  honest  indignation, 
'  that  one  of  you  has  debased  himself  to  an  apology  ? ' 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  much  perplexed 
in  mind. 

'  It  is  too  long  a  tale  for  the  opportunity,  Mr. 
Wogan,'  said  the  Colonel  laughing.  'But  w/iat 
does  that  mean .-' ' 

He  pointed  to  the  Water  God  in  the  perruque, 
whose  shadow  was  reflected  in  the  calm  bosom  of 
the  lake. 

'Colonel  Montague,'  cried  Scrope,  'I  appeal  to 
you  as  a  Protestant  and  an  officer  of  his  Majesty's 
for  your  protection  against  an  Irish,  Popish,  Jacobite 
conspirator. ' 

'That  gentleman,'  said  Wogan,  'whom  I  have 
been  entertaining  with  Mr.  Pope's  poem,  is  an 
English  Protestant,  Whig,  spy,  and  murderer,  and 
even,    I   suspect,  a  writer  in  the  newspapers.     He 


296  PARSON    KELLY 

persists  in  staying  out  in  the  water  there,  where  I 
cannot   get   at    him.     He  is   one   of   the  Maritime 
Powers.     Egad !     George,  you  know  Mr.   Scrope  of 
Northumberland  and  Grub  Street } ' 
George  bowed  to  Mr.  Scrope. 

*  The  fourth  time  you  see,  sir,  has  been  lucky, 
contrary  to  the  proverb,'  he  said  politely. 

'  The  poor  devil's  teeth  are  chattering  audibly,' 
said  Colonel  Montague.  *  May  I  ask  you  to  explain 
his  situation,  Mr.  Wogan.-' ' 

'  Faith,  sir,  the  story,  as  you  say,  is  too  long  for 
the  occasion.  And  I  want  an  explanation  myself. 
After  a  gentleman  has  trod  on  another  gentleman's 
foot,  here  you  both  are,  well  and  smiling.  I  am 
betrayed, '  cried  Mr.  Wogan,  '  in  the  character  of  a 
friend.      I  could  not  have  thought  it  of  George. ' 

'  What  was  the  pistol  shot  we  heard,  Nick  ? '  asked 
Mr.  Kelly. 

*  That  was  Mr.  Scrope  firing  at  me.' 

*  And  the  view  halloo  that  might  have  wakened 
the  dead .? ' 

*  That  was  me  remonstrating  with  Mr.  Scrope. 
But  I  crave  your  pardon  for  my  thoughtlessness. 
No  doubt  the  noise  brought  up  some  ungentlemanly 
person  who  interrupted  you  in  your  explanation. 
You  will  begin  it  again.?  Mr.  Scrope  and  I  will  be 
delighted  to  see  fair  play,  but  you  will  see  it  from 
the  water,  Mr.  Scrope.     You  don't  come  out  yet.' 

*  Our  honours,  about  which  you  are  so  kindly  con- 
cerned, Mr.  Wogan,  are  as  intact  as  our  persons,' 
said  the  Colonel. 

'  Then  you  have  been  finding  out  that  George 
saved  your  life,  or  you  saved  George's,  some  time 


PARSON    KELLY  297 

in  the  dark  ages,  all  to  prevent  you   killing   each 
other  in  a  friendly  way?' 

'  You  are  in  an  ingenious  error,  Mr.  Wogan ;  but 
Mr.  Johnson  and  I  have  important  business  together 
in  the  town,  and  we  must  bid  you  farewell.  Pray 
allow  that  dripping  gentleman  to  land  and  go  to 
bed.' 

'  But  I  cannot  take  him  with  me,  and  it  is  purely 
inconvenient  to  let  him  follow  me,  for  the  precise 
reason  that  he  would  not  follow  me  at  all,  but  my 
friend  Mr.  Johnson.  I  am  like  my  countryman  who 
caught  a  Tartar  in  the  Muscovite  wars.  To  be  sure, 
I  might  tie  him  to  a  tree  with  his  garters.  Come 
out,   Mr.   Scrope,  and  be  tied  to  a  tree!' 

'  No,  no,'  said  the  Colonel;  'your  friend  will  die 
of  a  cold. ' 

'  Then  what  am  I  to  be  doing } '  asked  Wogan. 
'  He  is  a  very  curious  gentleman. ' 

'  I  must  leave  that  for  you  and  your  friend  to 
determine,'  said  Colonel  Montague.  He  turned  to 
Kelly.     '  In  ten  minutes,'  said  he,  moving  off. 

'In  ten  minutes,  Corydon,'  said  Kelly,  and 
Wogan  thought  he  heard  the  Colonel  mutter,  '  Oh, 
damnation ! ' 

It  was  all  Greek  to  Wogan,  and  Kelly  seemed  in 
no  mind  to  translate  the  Greek  for  his  baser  com- 
prehension. 

'  Be  off,  Nick,'  said  he.  '  I  have  ten  minutes  to 
wait  here,  and  for  ten  minutes  Mr.  Scrope  shall 
stand  in  the  pond.  You  have  that  much  law.  It  is 
time  enough  for  your  long  legs.' 

'  And  do  you  think  I  am  leaving  Mr.  Scrope  to 
follow  you  while  I  go  quietly  to  bed  ? '  asked  Wogan, 


298  PARSON    KELLY 

who  was  in  truth  hurt  by  the  proposal.  *  No.  I 
shall  take  him  with  me.  It  is  the  best  plan  after 
all.' 

*  It  will  not  matter,  I  think,  whether  he  follows 
me  or  no;  and,  Nick,  as  to  going  to  bed,  I  hope  it 
will  not  be  on  this  side  of  the  Channel.  Truth,  I 
should  be  blaming  you  as  it  is  for  your  delay,  but  I 
have  no  heart  to  it.'  He  had  dropped  into  the  Irish 
accent,  a  thing  very  rare  with  him.  '  For  the  world 
topples  about  me  to-night,  and  the  sight  of  a  friend 
is  very  pleasant  to  me.  There !  It  is  all  I  had  to 
say  to  you.     Good-night.     Good-bye. ' 

He  clapped  his  hand  on  Wogan's  shoulder  and 
then  sat  himself  down  on  the  grass.  If  Mr.  Scrope 
had  had  his  wits  about  him,  he  might  have  chosen 
this  occasion  to  creep  out  of  the  water,  for  Wogan 
was  paying  little  heed  to  him. 

'  George, '  said  he,  '  it  seems  the  game  has  gone 
against  you.  But  I  have  the  simplest  plan  imagi- 
nable to  put  matters  straight.  What  if  you  give  me 
the  key  to  that  pretty  despatch-box }  You  see  if  I 
go  to  your  lodging  and  am  taken  — ' 

'No!'  cried  Kelly. 

*  But  yes, '  said  Wogan,  seating  himself  on  the 
grass  beside  Kelly.  '  If  I  am  taken,  why,  it's  just 
Nick  Wogan  that 's  taken,  and  no  one  but  Nick 
Wogan  is  a  penny  the  worse.  But  if  you  go  and 
are  taken  —  well,  there's  the  Doctor's  daughter.' 

Kelly  would  not  listen  to  reason.  It  was  not,  he 
said,  a  mere  matter  of  slipping  into  the  house  and 
burning  the  cyphers.  But  a  man  must  pay  for  his 
own  shortcomings,  and  the  whole  aspect  of  affairs 
had  changed.     And  then  he  fell  to  thanking  Wogan, 


PARSON   KELLY  299 

which  thanks  Wogan  cut  short;  and  so  they  sat  in 
the  moonlight  like  a  couple  of  owls,  only  they  did 
not  talk. 

'You  are  very  thoughtful,'  said  Kelly,  with  a 
tired  sort  of  laugh,  '  and  you  have  thought  most  of 
your  ten  minutes  away. ' 

'  I  was  thinking, '  said  Wogan,  '  of  a  word  you 
used  to  say  about  a  little  parsonage  in  Ireland  and 
your  Latin  books,  and  an  acre  or  two  of  land,  and 
how,  like  a  fool,  I  laughed  at  you  for  speaking  so.' 

Kelly  rose  very  quickly  to  his  feet. 

'  Come,  Nick,'  said  he  almost  sharply.  '  My  ten 
minutes  are  almost  up.  I  cannot  watch  Scrope  after 
that,  and  you  may  just  as  well  save  your  life  as  lose 
it.' 

'I  mean  to  take  him  with  me,'  said  Wogan. 
'Come  out,  my  friend.  I'll  give  him  the  slip, 
never  fear,  when  I  want  to. ' 

'  And  then  you  will  start  for  France.^ ' 

Mr.  Wogan  did  not  mention  a  couple  of  obstacles 
which  would  at  all  events  delay  his  departure.  In 
the  first  place  he  had  a  little  matter  of  business  with 
Lord  Sidney  Beauclerk,  and  in  the  second  it  would 
be  no  more  than  politeness  to  inquire  after  Kelly's 
health  before  he  went  abroad.  He  kept  silent  upon 
this  subject,  and  again  summoned  Scrope,  who  waded 
with  his  teeth  chattering  from  the  water.  He  drove 
Scrope  before  him  along  a  bypath,  leaving  the 
Parson  standing  alone  in  the  moonlight.  Mr. 
Wogan  had  no  expectation  that  he  would  ever  see 
his  friend's  face  again,  and  therefore  he  swore  most 
heartily  at  Scrope. 

'  Come,  my  man,'  said  he,  '  I  am  to  see  that  you 


300  PARSON    KELLY 

do  not  catch  cold,'  and  he  marched  Scrope  at  a 
round  pace  eastwards  as  far  as  Temple  Bar,  and 
thence  northwards  to  Soho,  and  from  Soho  west- 
wards. 

Scrope  had  been  enjoined  strictly  not  to  open  his 
lips;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  heard  a  great  deal 
about  his  own  character,  his  merits  as  a  poet,  and 
the  morals  of  his  family,  which  was  no  doubt  new 
to  him.  Some  three  hours  later,  when  the  moon 
had  long  since  set,  the  pair  came  to  the  fields  behind 
Holland  House,  and  there  Wogan  took  his  leave  of 
Scrope.  The  man  could  do  no  more  harm  for  that 
night,  and  he  had  for  the  moment  lost  his  taste  for 
spying. 

'  You  will  stay  here  for  five  minutes, '  said  Wogan, 
who  in  five  seconds  was  lost  in  the  darkness.  He 
knew  a  shy  place  in  Westminster  where  he  could 
pass  the  night  undisturbed.  As  he  laid  his  head  on 
the  pillow  it  seemed  to  him  to  be  a  good  year  since 
he  had  driven  off  from  Sir  Harry  Goring's  house  in 
the  morning.  And  what  of  the  Parson,  whom  he 
had  last  seen,  a  sombre  figure  in  the  moonlight  by 
the  water  of  St.  James's  Park.?  Well,  the  night  had 
only  then  begun  for  Kelly,  who,  to  be  sure,  had  lain 
abed  all  the  day  before. 


I 


CHAPTER   XXI 

IN  WHICH   MR.    KELLY  SURPRISES   SMILINDA 

THE  devil  in  all  this  affair,  it  was  that  Wogan 
could  not  be  in  two,  or  even  three,  places  at 
once.  While  Kelly  was  shut  in  with  Lady  Oxford 
earlier,  Mr.  Wogan,  as  he  has  said,  was  on  the 
wrong  side  of  the  door.  There  he  was  again,  after 
the  rout,  while  he  conversed  with  Colonel  Mon- 
tague in  the  street.  Again,  while  Wogan  was  busy 
with  Mr.  Scrope  in  St.  James's  Park,  Kelly  and  the 
Colonel  were  exchanging  their  unknown  explana- 
tions, of  a  kind  not  admired  by  Mr.  Wogan,  which 
ended  in  their  walking,  like  a  pair  of  brothers, 
towards  George's  rooms.  In  all  these  conjunctures 
Mr.  Wogan's  advice,  could  he  have  been  present, 
might  have  been  serviceable,  or  at  least  his  curiosity 
must  have  been  assuaged. 

What  did  pass  between  Kelly  and  Lady  Oxford 
when  the  rout  was  over,  and  what  were  the  consider- 
ations which  induced  George  and  the  Colonel  to 
resist  their  natural  and  mutual  desire  for  an  honour- 
able satisfaction  ? 

These  questions  (that  perplexed  Wogan  when  he 
awoke,  about  noon,  from  the  fatigue  of  the  previous 
day)  were  answered  later  by  Kelly,  and  the  answer 


302  PARSON   KELLY 

must  be  given  before  the  later  adventures  and  sor- 
rows of  George  can  be  clearly  narrated.  Sure,  no 
trifle  could  have  turned  sword  and  gown  into  friends 
that  night. 

When  Lady  Oxford  and  Kelly  were  left  alone  in 
the  empty  rooms,  among  the  waning  candles  and 
scattered  cards,  Lady  Oxford  marched,  like  indig- 
nant royalty,  to  the  end  of  the  inner  withdrawing- 
room,  where  they  could  not  be  heard  or  interrupted 
without  warning. 

Mr.  Kelly  followed  with  a  mind  made  up.  It 
was,  after  all.  Lady  Oxford  that  had  betrayed  him, 
but  he  had,  by  an  accident  of  forgetfulness,  kept 
her  letters,  and  they  now  gave  him  the  advantage. 
If  those  letters  could  be  saved,  the  Chevalier's 
papers  could  and  should  be  saved  too,  and  himself 
rescued  from  peril  and  Rose  from  much  unhappi- 
ness.  Rose  was  at  the  bottom  of  his  thoughts  that 
night ;  her  face  was  mirrored  there  bright,  it  seemed, 
with  divinity.  The  Chevalier  was  there  too,  no 
doubt,  but  Rose  peeped  over  his  shoulder.  Mr. 
Kelly,  then,  hardened  his  heart,  and,  for  love  and 
loyalty,  meant  to  push  his  advantage  over  Lady 
Oxford  to  its  limits.  He  approached  her  as  she 
stood  retired. 

'Wretch,'  cried  Lady  Oxford,  'you  promised  to 
burn  my  letters.  Of  all  traitors  you  are  the  most 
abandoned  and  perfidious.' 

The  Parson  thought  that  memory  supplied  him 
with  a  parallel,   but  he  replied: 

'  It  is  a  promise  all  men  make  and  all  men  break.' 

Lady  Oxford  struck  her  hand  upon  a  table. 

'  You  swore  you  had  burned  them. ' 


PARSON   KELLY  303 

This  time  George  was  less  ready  with  his  answer, 
but  her  ladyship  stood  awaiting  it. 

'  My  passion  must  be  my  excuse,  madam ;  I  could 
not  bear  to  part  with  these  elegant  testimonies  of 
your  esteem.  It  is  as  I  have  the  honour  to  tell 
your  ladyship;  the  brocades  are  in  my  strong  box  in 
my  lodgings.  To-morrow  they  shall  be  restored  to 
your  hands. ' 

'  To-morrow ! '  she  said,  in  a  voice  of  despair. 
'To-morrow!     I  am  undone!' 

'  It  is  not  so  long  to  wait  for  the  finery,  and  I  do 
not  think  the  streets  are  so  purely  unsafe  as  you 
suppose. ' 

'  I  am  undone  ! '  she  repeated.  '  The  public  will 
ring  of  my  name.  I  shall  become  a  byword,  a  thing 
of  scorn  for  every  scribbler  to  aim  his  wit  at.' 

She  gnawed  her  fingers  in  an  agony  of  fear  and 
perplexity.  Mr.  Kelly  had  learned  enough.  There 
was  plainly  no  chance  within  the  lady's  knowledge, 
as  he  had  hoped,  of  saving  her  letters.  Neither, 
then,  could  the  King's  papers  be  saved.  He  bowed, 
and  took  a  step  towards  the  door. 

'  Stop ! ' 

Mr.  Kelly  turned  with  alacrity  at  the  eager  cry, 
but  Lady  Oxford  had  no  words  of  hope  for  him. 

'  You  must  not  leave  this  house  to-night,  or  must 
leave  it  secretly  by  the  garden. ' 

Kelly  smiled  grimly.  Her  ladyship  was  suddenly 
grown  most  tender  of  her  reputation  now  that  it  was 
in  peril. 

'  Your  ladyship's  care  for  me,  and  your  hospitality 
overcome  me,  but  I  have,  as  you  perhaps  remarked, 
an  assignation  of   honour  with   Colonel    Montague 


304  PARSON   KELLY 

which  nothing  must  prevent  me  from  keeping.  He 
is  longing  for  an  instant  revenge  —  at  the  Hazard 
Table.  A  while  ago,  you  may  pardon  me  for  observ- 
ing, your  ladyship  was  remote  from  feeling  this 
sudden  and  violent  anxiety  on  my  hand. ' 

Mr.  Kelly's  irony  was  poured  out  to  deaf  ears. 
Lady  Oxford  paced  to  and  fro  about  the  room, 
wringing  her  hands  in  her  extremity.  Then  she 
stopped  suddenly. 

*  I  might  drive  to  the  Minister's.'  She  reached 
out  a  hand  towards  the  bell.     Kelly  shook  his  head. 

'  That  visit  would  be  remarked  upon  unfavourably 
by  the  friends  of  my  Lord  Oxford,  who  are  not  in 
the  Minister's  interest.  Mr.  Walpole  has  no  party 
to-night,  and  must  have  gone  to  bed  —  't  is  verging 
on  two  o'clock  —  or  else  he  is  in  his  cups.  Moreover, 
the  Dolliad,  the  ballad  on  his  sister,  was  credited  to 
your  pen.  You  know  that  Mr.  Walpole  loves  a 
broad  jest,  and  loves  revenge.  He  will  not  protect 
you  nor  miss  so  fair  an  opportunity.  Nay,  I  think 
I  read  in  to-morrow's  Flying  Post,  "In  the  papers 
of  the  prisoner  Kelly,  among  other  treasonable 
matter  reserved  for  a  later  occasion,  were  found 
the  following  letters  of  a  high  curiosity,  which  we 
are  graciously  permitted  to  publish;  one  begins  — 
Oh,  my  Delicious  Strep  lion."  ' 

Lady  Oxford  snapped  her  fan  between  her  fingers 
and  dashed  the  fragments  in  Kelly's  face.  He  owns 
that  he  cannot  well  complain  she  served  him  ill,  but 
he  wanted  to  repay  her  in  some  sort  for  her  innuendo 
about  his  fate  at  the  hangman's  hands,  and  similar 
favours.  Beholding  her  passion,  which  was  not 
unjust,  he  felt  bitterly  ashamed  of  his  words. 


PARSON   KELLY  305 

'  You  coward ! '  she  said.  Her  dark  eyes  glared 
at  him  from  a  face  white  as  the  ivory  of  her  broken 
fan,  and  then,  quite  suddenly,  she  burst  into  a 
storm  of  tears,  Kelly's  shame  was  increased  a 
thousandfold. 

'  I  humbly  crave  your  ladyship's  pardon,'  he  said. 
*  I  have  spoken  in  terms  unworthy  of  a  chairman- 
But  some  remarks  of  your  ladyship's  on  a  future 
event,  to  me  of  painful  interest,  had  left  an  unhappy 
impression. ' 

But  Lady  Oxford  paid  no  heed  to  the  stammered 
apology.  As  Mr.  Kelly  moved  to  her  she  waived 
him  aside  with  her  hands,  and,  dropping  on  to  a  sofa, 
pressed  her  weeping  face  into  the  cushions.  Sobs 
shook  her;  she  lay  abandoned  to  distress. 

Mr.  Kelly  stood  apart  and  listened  to  the  dolorous 
sound  of  her  weeping.  That  was  true  which  she 
had  said;  he  had  promised  to  burn  those  letters;  he 
had  sworn  that  he  had  burned  them.  His  fine  plan 
of  using  them  as  a  weapon  against  her  began  to  take 
quite  another  complexion.  There  were,  no  doubt, 
all  manner  of  pious  and  respectable  arguments  to  be 
discovered  in  favour  of  the  plan,  if  only  he  pried 
about  for  them.  But  a  saying  of  Mr.  Scrope's  was 
suddenly  scrawled  out  in  his  recollections :  '  y^neas 
was  an  army  chaplain  who  invoked  his  religion 
when  he  was  tired  of  the  lady,  and  so  sailed  away 
with  a  clear  conscience.'  Kelly  murmured  '  Rose' 
to  himself,  and,  again,  'Rose,'  seeking  to  fortify 
himself  with  the  mention  of  her  name.  But  it  had 
the  contrary  effect.  Even  as  he  heard  his  lips  mur- 
muring it,  the  struggle  was  over. 

George  had  a  number  of  pretty  finical  scruples, 

20 


3o6  PARSON    KELLY 

of  which  his  conduct  at  this  crisis  of  his  fortunes 
was  a  particular  example.  He  relates  how  it  seemed 
to  him  that  at  the  mention  of  her  name  Rose  threw 
out  a  hand  to  him  and  drew  him  up  out  of  a  slough ; 
how  he  understood  that  his  fine  plan  was  unworthy 
of  any  man,  and  entirely  despicable  in  the  man 
whom  she,  out  of  her  great  condescension,  had 
stooped  to  love ;  how  he  became  aware  that  he  owed 
it  to  her,  since  she  was  a  woman,  that  no  woman's 
fame,  whether  a  Smilinda's  or  no,  should  be  smirched 
by  any  omission  of  his;  how  he  suddenly  felt  in  his 
very  marrow  that  it  would  dishonour  Rose  to  save 
her  even  from  great  misery  by  a  Idchete  towards 
another  of  her  sex.  His  duty  was  revealed  to  him 
in  that  moment,  as  clear  as  it  was  unexpected.  He 
sets  his  revulsion  of  feeling  wholly  to  Rose's 
account,  as  a  man  in  love  should,  but  very  likely 
her  ladyship's  fan  had  something  to  do  with  it. 

He  spoke  again  to  Lady  Oxford,  and  very 
gently. 

'  Madam,  it  is  true.  I  promised  to  burn  your 
letters.  I  swore  that  I  had  burned  them.  My 
honour,  I  perceive,  can  only  be  saved  by  saving 
yours. ' 

Lady  Oxford  raised  her  head  from  the  cushions 
and  stared  at  him  with  wondering  eyes. 

*  Let  us  play  this  game  cartes  siir  table, '  continued 
Kelly. 

Her  ladyship  rose  from  her  sofa  and  sat  herself  in 
a  chair  at  a  table,  still  wondering,  still  suspicious. 
George  took  the  chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
and  spoke  while  Lady  Oxford  dried  the  tears  upon 
her  face.     To  help  her  at  all  he  must  know  all  that 


PARSON    KELLY  307 

she  knew.  His  first  business  was  to  remove  her 
ladyship's  supicions. 

'  I  understand  that  your  ladyship,  by  some  means 
of  which  I  am  as  yet  ignorant,  has  become  aware  of 
a  certain  Plot,  and  has  carried  the  knowledge  to  Mr. 
Walpole.' 

Lady  Oxford  neither  agreed  nor  denied.  She 
admitted  the  truth  of  Mr.  Kelly's  statement  in  her 
own  way. 

'  You  bragged  and  blabbed  to  my  worst  enemy,  to 
Lady  Mary,  with  her  poisonous  pen,'  and  her  fine 
features  writhed  with  hatred  as  she  spoke  Lady 
Mary's  name. 

*  There  your  ladyship  was  misled, '  returned 
Kelly.  *  My  lips  have  been  sealed,  as  I  already  had 
the  honour  to  inform  you.  My  Lady  Mary  may  not 
love  you,  but  she  is  innocent  of  this  offence.  If  she 
wrote  those  rhymes,  she  was,  indeed,  more  my 
enemy  than  yours;  and  my  enemy,  as  your  ladyship 
is  aware,  she  is  not. ' 

Lady  Oxford  understood  the  strength  of  the 
argument. 

*  Ah,  yes, '  she  said  thoughtfully.  '  The  apothe- 
cary's daughter! ' 

The  contemptuous  phrase  slipped  from  Lady 
Oxford  by  mistake,  and  was  not  at  all  uttered  in  a 
contemptuous  voice.  But  she  had  no  doubt  fallen 
into  a  habit  of  so  terming  the  girl  in  her  thoughts. 
None  the  less,  however,  it  stung  Mr.  Kelly,  who 
was  at  some  trouble  to  keep  his  voice  gentle.  He 
knew  how  much  Smilinda  owed  at  this  moment  to 
the  apothecary's  daughter. 

*  The  young  lady  to  whom  I  conceive  you  refer, 


3o8  PARSON    KELLY 

Miss  Townley,  is  of  a  family  as  ancient,  loyal,  and 
honourable  as  your  ladyship's  own,  and  you  may 
have  seen  on  what  terms  both  ladies  were  this  even- 
ing. Moreover,  Lady  Mary  was  purely  ignorant  of 
Miss  Townley's  very  existence  when  that  pasquinade 
was  written. ' 

'  Then  who  wrote  it  ?  ' 

'  Mr.  Scrope,  as  I  have  the  honour  to  repeat.' 

'Scrope.'*'  she  answered  in  a  quick  question,  as 
though  for  the  first  time  she  understood  that  George 
might  well  be  right.  He  gave  the  reasons  for  his 
belief  as  he  had  given  them  at  the  Deanery  to 
Nicholas  Wogan.  They  were  to  the  last  degree 
convincing.  Lady  Oxford  was  persuaded  long  before 
Mr.  Kelly  had  come  to  an  end.  A  look  came  into 
her  face  which  Kelly  could  not  understand,  a  look 
of  bitter  humiliation.  'Scrope,'  she  muttered,  as 
her  fingers  played  with  the  cards  upon  the  table. 
She  overturned  a  card  which  lay  face  downwards  on 
the  table,  and  it  chanced  to  be  the  knave  of  hearts. 

*  Your  ladyship  now  sees  that  you  fell  into  a 
natural  error,'  continued  Kelly,  who  was  anxious  to 
smooth  Lady  Oxford's  path,  '  in  consequence  of 
which  you  took  a  natural  revenge.  May  I  ask  how 
you  secured  the  means  of  revenge.?  How,  in  a 
word,  you  came  to  know  of  the  hidden  Plot  within 
the  Plot  ? ' 

Her  ladyship's  answer  fairly  startled  Mr.  Kelly. 
It  was  not  given  at  once.  She  still  played  with  the 
cards,  and  overturned  another.  It  was  the  knave  of 
clubs. 

'  The  cards  tell  you,'  she  said  with  a  bitter  smile. 
Mr.  Kelly  leaned  back  in  his  chair  open-mouthed. 


PARSON  KELLY  309 

*  Scrope? '  he  asked. 

'Scrope, '  replied  her  ladyship.  'I  received  a 
humble  letter  from  him  praying  that  I  would  forgive 
his  odious  ingratitude,  and,  by  way  of  peace-offer- 
ing, bidding  me  tell  my  Lord  Oxford  —  ' 

'  Who  had  already  withdrawn, '  said  George.  '  I 
think  I  understand,'  Lady  Oxford's  look  of  humili- 
ation had  enlightened  him,  *  and  I  think  your  lady- 
ship understands  with  me.  Mr.  Scrope  is  a  sort 
of  a  gentleman,  and  would  prefer  to  do  his  dirty 
work  without  appearing  as  a  spy.  He  has  made 
use  of  your  ladyship.  He  sends  you  the  Plot  and 
spurs  you  to  disclose  it  with  his  ballad.  He  would 
have  disclosed  it  himself,  I  doubt  not,  had  not  your 
ladyship  served  his  turn.  But  Mr.  Scrope  has  his 
refinements,  and,  besides  that  he  spares  himself, 
would  take  a  particular  pleasure  in  compassing  my 
ruin  at  the  same  time  that  he  outwitted  you." 

Little  wonder  that  Lady  Oxford  broke  in  upon 
Mr.  Kelly's  reasonings.  It  must  have  been  suffi- 
ciently galling  for  her  to  reflect  that  in  exacting  her 
revenge  she  had  been  the  mere  instrument  of  a  man 
she  had  tossed  aside. 

*  It  is  both  of  us  that  he  has  ruined,  not  you 
alone, '  she  cried. 

Certainly,  Mr.  Scrope  was  a  person  to  reckon  with, 
and  had  killed  quite  a  covey  of  birds  with  one  stone. 

'  Are  you  sure? '  asked  Kelly.  '  Are  you  sure  of 
that  ? ' 

She  bent  across  the  table  eagerly,  but  she  did  not 
reply  to  the  question. 

*  Will  you  kill  Scrope, '  she  flashed  out,  '  and  you 
and  I  part  friends  ? ' 


3IO  PARSON    KELLY 

Kelly,  even  in  the  midst  of  this  tangle  of  misfor- 
tunes, could  not  but  smile. 

'  I  fear  that  I  may  have  been  anticipated.  Mr. 
Scrope  has  been  watching  your  ladyship's  house 
to-night  —  and  Mr.  Wogan  observed  him,  and,  I 
conceive,  has  undertaken   for  him. ' 

Lady  Oxford  at  that  smiled  too.  '  Then  he  is  a 
dead  man, '  she  said,  slowly  savouring  her  words  like 
wine. 

*  But  his  death,  madam,  will  not  save  your  letters,' 
said  Kelly;  and  the  fire  died  out  of  her  face. 

'He  has  betrayed  us  both,'  she  moaned.  It 
seemed  she  had  already  forgotten  how  she  herself 
had  seized  at  the  occasion  of  betraying  Mr.  Kelly. 
Kelly  was  in  no  mood  to  debate  these  subtleties. 

*  Are  you  sure?'  he  contented  himself  with  ask- 
ing for  a  second  time.  '  There  is  one  thing  Mr. 
Scrope  has  not  done.  He  has  taken  no  measures 
purposely  to  insure  that  your  letters  will  be  discov- 
ered, since  he  does  not  know  of  them;  else,  no 
doubt,  he  would  have  done  his  worst.  We  two  are 
still  engaged  in  a  common  cause  —  your  ladyship's. 
Your  intentions  in  my  regard  I  were  much  less  than 
a  man  if  I  did  not  forgive,  granting  (what  I  now 
know)  your  ladyship's  erroneous  interpretation  of 
my  ground  of  offence,  the  babbling  to  Lady  Mary. 
Does  your  ladyship  permit  me,  then,  at  the  eleventh 
hour,  to  save  you,  if  I  can  find  a  way,  from  the 
odious  consequences  of  Mr.  Scrope's  unparalleled 
behaviour  ? ' 

'  You .? ' 

Lady  Oxford's  brows  were  drawn  together  in  per- 
plexity.    The  notion  that  Mr.   Kelly  was  prepared 


PARSON   KELLY  311 

to  do  this  thing  was  still  new  and  strange  to 
her. 

'  You?'  Her  eyes  searched  his  for  the  truth  of 
his  purpose,  and  found  it.  'You.-*'  she  said  again, 
but  in  a  voice  of  gratitude  and  comprehension.  And 
then,  with  a  gesture  of  despair,  she  thrust  her  chair 
back  and  stood  up.  *  You  cannot  save  yourself.  I 
cannot  save  you. ' 

'  No, '  replied  George,  *  myself  I  cannot  save ; 
but  it  may  not  be  too  late  to  save  my  honour,  which 
is  now  wrapped  up  in  that  of  your  ladyship's.  My 
case  is  desperate ;  what  can  be  done  for  yours .''  Be 
plain  with  me.  How  much  does  your  ladyship 
know  ? ' 

Lady  Oxford  turned  away  from  the  table.  In  the 
face  of  Kelly's  generosity  no  doubt  she  hesitated  to 
disclose  the  whole  truth  of  her  treachery. 

*  I  know  no  more  than  that  you  are  in  peril  of 
arrest,'  she  said. 

'  Madam,  surely  you  know  more  than  that.  You 
spoke  earlier  this  evening  of  my  arrest,  and  you 
spoke  with  the  assurance  of  a  more  particular 
knowledge.  * 

Lady  Oxford  took  a  turn  across  the  room. 

*  Oh,  my  God,  what  can  I  do.' '  she  cried,  lifting 
her  hands  to  her  head.  '  I  hear  Lady  Mary's 
laughter  and  the  horrid  things  they  will  say ! ' 

The  whimsical  inconsequence  of  Smilinda's  appeal 
to  her  Maker  did  not  fail  to  strike  Kelly  as  ludi- 
crous, but,  as  his  own  case  was  hopeless  and  aban- 
doned, any  thought  of  revenge  or  mockery  had 
ceased  to  agitate  him.  His  honour  now  stood  in 
saving  all  that  was  left  of  hers  from  open  and  in- 


312  PARSON   KELLY 

tolerable   shame,    and   Rose  beckoned   him   to   the 
task. 

'  Surely  you  know  more, '  he  persisted  quietly. 
.  Lady  Oxford  gave  in  and  came  back  to  the  table. 

'  The  Messengers  should  be  waiting  for  you  in 
Ryder  Street. ' 

At  last  Kelly  knew  the  worst.  He  would  be 
taken  before  he  reached  his  doorstep.  There  would 
be  no  chance  of  saving  the  cyphers  in  his  strong 
box.     Could  he  save  Smilinda's  letters.-* 

He  bent  his  forehead  upon  his  hands,  thinking. 
Smilinda  watched  him ;  her  lips  moved  as  though 
she  was  praying. 

'  I  might  be  carried  to  your  lodgings  and  claim 
what  is  mine, '  she  suggested. 

*  You  would  be  carried  to  a  trap  —  a  soiiricih'e. 
Ten  to  one  you  would  be  arrested  by  the  Messengers. 
At  all  events  your  visit  would  be  remarked  upon, 
and  you  would  not  obtain  the  letters. ' 

Lady  Oxford  had  no  other  proposal  at  hand,  and 
there  was  silence  in  the  room.  Mr.  Kelly  remained 
with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands;  he  took  the  air  in 
long  deep  breaths.  No  other  sound  was  audible 
except  the  faint  ticking  of  the  clock  in  the  outer 
withdrawing-room.  For  Smilinda  was  holding  her 
breath  lest  she  should  disturb  the  man  whom  she 
had  betrayed,  and  who  was  now  wholly  occupied 
with  the  attempt  to  save  her.  Then  she  remarked 
that  the  sound  of  his  breathing  ceased.  She  bent 
forwards;  he  raised  his  face  to  hers.  He  did  not 
seem  to  see  her;  his  eyes  kindled  with    hope. 

'  You  have  found  a  way  .^ '  she  whispered;  and  he 
whispered  back: 


PARSON    KELLY  313 

*  A  desperate  chance,  but  it  may  serve. '  He 
started  to  his  feet.     '  It  must  serve. ' 

A  smile  brightened  over  his  face. 

'It  will  serve.' 

Sure  he  showed  as  much  pleasure  as  if  he  had 
discovered  an  issue  for  himself. 

'Quick!'  said  Smilinda,  with  a  smile  to  answer 
his.     'Tell  me!' 

'  Colonel  Montague  —  ' 

'  What  of  him  ?     Why  speak  to  me  now  of  him  ? ' 

Lady  Oxford's  face  had  clouded  at  the  name. 

'  He  is  your  only  salvation.' 

'  What  can  he  do  ?  ' 

'  Everything  we  need.  His  loyalty  to  the  present 
occupant  of  the  Throne  is  entirely  beyond  a  sus- 
picion. He  can  act  as  he  will  without  peril  to  his 
reputation.  He  can  even  rescue  your  papers,  which 
are  not  in  the  same  strong  box  as  my  own.  The 
Colonel,  if  any  man,  can  assist  you  if  he  will.' 

'  But  he  will  not,'  said  her  ladyship  sullenly. 

'  He  will, '  answered  Kelly  confidently,  '  if  properly 
approached.  He  is  a  man  of  honour,  I  take  it.? 
You  will  pardon  me  for  saying  that  your  ladyship's 
flattering  behaviour  towards  me,  in  his  presence  (for 
the  nature  of  which  you  had,  doubtless,  your  own 
particular  reasons)  can  have  left  him  in  no  doubt  on 
certain  heads;  while  it  is  equally  plain  that  your 
ladyship  hath  no  longer  any  very  tender  interest  in 
keeping  his  esteem  and  regard.  Nevertheless,  being 
a  gentleman,  he  will  not  abandon  your  ladyship's 
cause. ' 

Lady  Oxford  was  in  no  way  comforted. 

*  It  may  well  be  as  you  say,'  she  returned  with  a 


314 


PARSON    KELLY 


look  at  Mr.  Kelly.  She  had  already  one  example 
of  how  much  a  gentleman  could  forgive  a  woman 
when  she  stood  in  need  of  his  help.  *  But,  Mr. 
Kelly,  you  cannot  come  at  Colonel  Montague. ' 

'  Why  not  J ' 

'  You  know  very  well  that  he  lodges  in  the  same 
house  as  yourself.  I  sent  a  lackey  with  a  note  to 
you,  yesterday.  And  your  reply  was  dated  from  13 
Ryder  Street. ' 

Mr.  Kelly  stepped  back,  he  could  hardly  believe 
his  ears. 

'  Colonel  Montague  —  lodges  —  in  the  same  house 
as  myself .'' '  he  asked. 

'  Yes, '  Lady  Oxford  replied  in  a  dispirited  fashion. 
She  had  lost  heart  altogether.  Mr.  Kelly,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  quite  lifted  up  by  the  unexpected  news. 

'  This  is  a  mere  miracle  in  nature,'  he  cried.  '  I 
only  went  into  my  present  lodgings  two  days  ago. 
I  have  been  abroad  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time, 
and  asleep  the  rest,  and  have  had  no  knowledge  of 
the  other  tenants,  even  of  their  names.  'Faith, 
madam,  your  letters  are  as  safe  as  though  the  ashes 
were  now  cold  in  your  grate.  * 

'  But  the  Colonel  will  have  gone  home,  and  you 
are  to  be  taken  in  Ryder  Street.  You  will  not  get 
speech  with  him. ' 

'  Nay,  madam,  he  has  not  gone  home.  He  is 
waiting  for  me  now. '  Lady  Oxford  started.  '  Ah, 
your  ladyship  remembers.  He  is  waiting  for  me. 
Ten  yards  from  your  doorstep  —  ten  yards  at  the 
farthest,'  and  Kelly  actually  chuckled.  Carried 
away  by  his  plan,  he  began  to  pace  the  room  as  he 
unfolded  it.     '  I  shall  see  the  Colonel,  and  if  I  can 


PARSON   KELLY  315 

by  any  means  do  so,  I  will  acquaint  him,  as  far  as 
is  necessary,  with  the  embarrassing  posture  of  your 
affairs.  I  shall  give  him  the  key  of  the  box  con- 
taining the  —  brocades,  and,  if  the  Messengers  be 
not  already  in  possession  of  them,  the  rest  must  be 
entrusted  to  his  honour  as  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier. 
The  unexpected  accident  of  our  being  fellow-lodgers 
gives  him,  to  this  end,  a  great  advantage,  and  can 
scarce  have  occurred  without  the  providence  of  — 
some  invisible  power  or  another  which  watches  over 
your  ladyship.' 

Kelly  thought  that  Lady  Oxford  this  night  had 
enjoyed  what  is  called  the  Devil's  own  luck. 

'  Have  I  your  ladyship's  leave  to  try  my  powers  of 
persuasion  with  Colonel  Montague.?  ' 

Very  much  to  Kelly's  surprise  she  moved  towards 
him,  like  one  walking  in  her  sleep. 

'You  are  bleeding,'  she  said,  and  stanched  with 
her  handkerchief  some  drops  from  his  brow,  where 
it  had  been  cut  by  the  broken  edges  of  the  ivory  fan. 
Then  she  went  again  iD<"0  a  bitter  fit  of  weeping, 
which  Kelly  could  never  bear  to  see  in  a  woman. 
She  may  have  remembered  the  snow  upon  the  lawn, 
years  ago,  and  a  moment's  vision  of  white  honour. 
Then  she  stinted  in  her  crying  as  suddenly  as  she 
had  begun;  in  a  time  incredibly  short  you  could  not 
tell  that  she  had  wept. 

'  You  must  carry  a  token.  I  must  write.  Oh  my 
shame ! '  she  said,  and  sitting  down  to  a  scrutoire, 
wrote  rapidly  and  briefly,  sanded  the  paper,  and 
offered  it  open  to  Kelly. 

*  I  cannot  see  it;  your  ladyship  must  seal  it,'  he 
said,  which  she  did  with  a  head  of  Cicero. 


31 6  PARSON    KELLY 

George  took  the  note,  and  said :  '  Now  time 
presses,  madam.  I  must  be  gone.  I  trust  that,  if 
not  now,  at  least  later,  you  may  forgive  me. ' 

Her  lips  moved,  but  no  words  came  forth.  Kelly 
made  his  bow,  and  so  took  leave  of  Smilinda,  she 
gnawing  her  lips,  as  she  watched  him  with  her 
inscrutable  eyes,  moodily  pushing  to  and  fro  with 
her  foot  the  broken  pieces  of  the  fan  on  the  polished 
floor. 

There  came  into  Kelly's  fancy  his  parting  view  of 
Rose  at  Avignon,  her  face  framed  among  the  vine 
leaves,  in  the  open  window;  she  leaning  forth,  with 
a  forced  smile  on  her  dear  lips  and  waving  her  ker- 
chief in  farewell.  A  light  wind  was  stirring  her 
soft  hair  at  that  time,  and  she  crying  '  An  revoir! 
Au  revoir  ! '  There  was  a  scent  of  lilacs  from  the 
garden  in  the  air  of  April,  George  remembered,  and 
now  the  candles  were  dying  in  the  sconces  with  a 
stench. 

With  these  contrasted  pictures  of  two  women  and 
two  farewells  in  his  fancy,  Kelly  was  descending 
the  wide  empty  staircase,  not  knowing  too  well 
where  he  went.  Something  seemed  to  stir,  he  lifted 
his  eyes  and  before  him  he  saw  again  the  appearance 
of  his  King:  the  King,  young  and  happy,  and  as 
beautiful  as  the  dawn  that  was  stealing  into  the 
room  and  dimming  the  lustres  on  the  stairs. 

Then  the  appearance  moved  aside,  and  Kelly 
found  himself  gazing  into  a  great  empty  mirror  that 
hung  on  the  wall,  facing  the  gallery  above. 

Lord  Sidney  Beauclerk,  in  fact,  had  not  left  the 
house  with  the  other  guests,  and  Kelly,  remembering, 
laughed  aloud  as  he  reached  the  fresh  air  without. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

AN  ECLOGUE  WHICH   DEMONSTRATES  THE  PASTORAL 
SIMPLICITY   OF   CORYDON  AND    STREPHON 

WOGAN  has  told  already  how  Kelly  came  out 
of  the  house  in  Queen's  Square,  how  he  led 
the  way  to  the  glade,  so  convenient  for  the  occasion, 
and  how  he  dismissed  his  friend.  George  has  since 
declared  that  he  never  was  more  tossed  up  and  down 
in  his  mind  than  during  that  trifle  of  a  promenade. 
Here  was  the  Colonel  that  had  insulted  him,  and 
wished  nothing,  more  or  less,  than  to  cut  his  clerical 
throat.  And  here  was  Kelly,  that  must  make 
friends  with  his  enemy,  if  he  was  to  save  his  honour, 
and  the  reputation,  such  as  it  was,  of  the  woman 
whom  he  had  once  loved.  It  was  a  quandary.  If 
Kelly  began  by  showing  a  flag  of  truce,  the  Colonel, 
as  like  as  not,  would  fire  on  it  by  way  of  a  kick  or 
cuff,  and  then  a  friendly  turn  to  the  conversation 
would  be  totally  out  of  the  possible.  Had  Kelly 
been  six  inches  taller  than  he  was  and  a  perfect 
master  of  his  weapon,  he  might  have  trusted  to  the 
chance  of  disarming  the  Colonel  and  then  proposing 
a  cartel,  but  unhappily  it  was  the  Elector's  officer 
who  possessed  these  advantages.  Thus  Kelly  could 
think  of  nothing  except  to  get  rid  of  Mr.  Wogan's 
presence  as  a  witness  of  the  explanation.     He  sue- 


3i8 


PARSON    KELLY 


ceeded  in  that,  and  then  marched  back  to  the 
Colonel,  who  had  stood  aside  while  George  con- 
versed with  his  friend. 

Kelly  waited,  as  the  wiser  part,  till  the  Colonel 
should  show  his  hand.  But  the  Colonel  also  waited, 
and  there  the  two  gentlemen  stood  speechless,  just 
out  of  thrust  of  each  other,  while  every  convenience 
in  nature  called  on  them  to  begin. 

At  last  the  Colonel  cleared  his  throat  and  said, 
'  Reverend  Mr.  Lace-Merchant,  I  am  somewhat  at  a 
loss  as  to  how  I  should  deal  with  you.' 

'  Faith,  it  is  my  own  case, '  thought  George  to 
himself,  but  all  he  uttered  was,  '  Gallant  Mr.  Drill- 
Sergeant,  the  case  seems  clear  enough.  You  trod 
on  my  foot,  and,'  said  George,  as  he  let  his  cloak 
slip  from  his  shoulders  to  the  ground,  '  you  invited 
me  to  take  a  walk;  what  circumstance  now  befogs 
your  intellects  .-* ' 

Kelly's  instincts,  naturally  good,  though  dimmed 
a  trifle  by  a  learned  education  and  a  clerical  train- 
ing, showed  him  but  that  one  way  out  of  the  wood. 

'  Several  circumstances  combine,  sir.  Thus,  I 
do  not  want  to  save  the  hangman  a  job.  Again,  my 
respect  for  your  cloth  forbids  me  to  draw  sword  on 
you,  and  rather  prompts  to  a  public  battooning  to- 
morrow in  St.  James's.  I  therefore  do  but  wait  to 
favour  you  with  this  warning,  which  is  more  than  a 
trafficker  of  your  kidney  deserves. ' 

*  Truth,  sir,  if  you  wait  to  cane  me  till  to-morrow, 
I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  you  may  wait  a 
lifetime.  As  to  cloth,  mine  is  as  honourable  as  ever 
a  German  usurper's  livery.' 

This  did  not  promise  a  friendly  conclusion,  but 


PARSON    KELLY  319 

George  was  ever  honourably  ready  to  support  the 
honour  of  his  gown,  and  he  confesses  that,  at  this 
moment,  he  somewhat  lost  sight  of  his  main  object. 

The  Colonel  stepped  forward  with  uplifted  cane, 
a  trifle  of  tortoise-shell  and  amber,  in  his  hand. 

George  drew  back  one  pace  and  folded  his  arms 
on  his  breast.  His  eyes,  which  are  of  an  uncommon 
bright  blue,  were  fixed  on  the  Colonel's. 

'  You  will  find,  sir,  if  you  advance  one  foot,  that 
I  do  not  stand  kick  or  cuff.  You  are  dealing  with 
one  who  knows  his  weapon  '  (no  experience  could 
cure  George  of  this  delusion),  '  and  who  does  not 
value  his  life  at  a  straw.  Moreover,  you  began  a 
parley  for  which  I  did  not  ask,  though  I  desired  it, 
and  I  have  to  tell  you  that  your  honour  is  involved 
in  continuing  this  conversation  in  quite  another 
key.' 

George  stepped  forward  the  pace  he  had  with- 
drawn, and  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  back, 
watching  the  Colonel  narrowly. 

There  was  something  in  his  voice,  more  in  his 
eyes.  The  Colonel  had  seen  fire,  and  knew  a  brave 
man  when  he  met  one.  He  threw  down  his  cane 
and  Kelly  reckoned  that  the  worst  of  his  task  was 
over. 

'  You  may  compel  me  to  fight,'  George  went  on, 
'  and  I  never  went  to  a  feast  with  a  better  stomach, 
but  first  I  have  certain  words  that  must  be  spoken 
to  you. ' 

*  You  cannot  intend  to  escape  by  promising  a  dis- 
covery ? ' 

*  Sir,  I  do  not  take  you  for  a  Messenger  or  a  Min- 
ister.    One  or  both  I  can  find  without  much  seek- 


320  PARSON    KELLY 

ing,  and,  for  that  sufficient  reason,  before  they  lay 
hands  on  me  I  absolutely  demand  to  speak  to  you  on 
a  matter  closely  touching  your  own  honour,  which, 
as  I  have  never  heard  it  impeached,  I  therefore 
sincerely  profess  my  desire  to  trust' 

'  You  are  pleased  to  be  complimentary,  but  I 
know  not  how  my  honour  can  be  concerned  with  a 
Jacobite  trafficker  and  his  treasons.' 

'  I  make  you  this  promise,  that,  if  you  do  thus 
utterly  refuse  to  listen  for  five  minutes,  I  will  give 
you  every  satisfaction  at  the  sword's  point,  or,  by 
God  !  will  compel  you  to  take  it,  as  you  have  been 
pleased  to  introduce  battoons  into  a  conversation 
between  gentlemen.  And  if,  when  you  have  heard 
me,  you  remain  dissatisfied,  again  I  will  give  you  a 
lesson  with  sharps.  You  see  that  we  are  not  likely 
to  be  interrupted,  and  that  I  am  perfectly  cool. 
This  is  a  matter  to  each  of  us  of  more  than  life  or 
death. ' 

'  I  do  see  that  you  desire  to  pique  my  curiosity  for 
the  sake  of  some  advantage  which  I  am  unable  to 
perceive.  Perhaps  you  expect  your  friends  on  the 
scene? ' 

'  You  may  observe  that  I  began  by  dismissing  the 
only  friend  I  have  in  this  town.  Do  you,  perhaps, 
suspect  that  Mr.  Nicholas  Wogan  needs,  or  has 
gone  to  procure,  assistance  .-• ' 

'  I  confess  that  I  know  that  gentleman  too  well 
for  any  such  suspicions. ' 

'  Then,  sir,  remember  that  the  Roman  says 
noscitur  a  sociis,  and  reflect  that  I  am  a  friend  of 
Mr.  Wogan' s,  who  must  stand  sponsor,  as  you  do 
not   know   me,    for  my  honesty.     Moreover,'    said 


PARSON    KELLY  321 

George,  working  round  by  a  risky  way  to  his  point, 
'  had  I  wished  to  escape  I  could,  instead  of  seeking 
you,  have  sneaked  off  t'other  way.  You  observed 
that  I  remained  some  minutes  with  a  lady  to-night 
after  you  and  the  rest  of  her  company  had  with- 
drawn?' 

'  It  is  very  like  your  impudence  to  remind  me 
of  that  among  other  provocations !  I  am  not  con- 
cerned in  your  merchant's  business  of  brocades.' 

'  But,  indeed,  with  your  pardon,  you  are  concerned 
in  the  highest  degree,  and  that  is  just  the  point  I 
would  bring  you  to  consider. ' 

*  I  tire  of  your  mysteries,  sir, '  he  said,  shrugging 
his  shoulders.      '  Speak  on,  and  be  brief. ' 

*  On  these  brocades  turns  the  question  whether  the 
honour  of  a  lady,  which  you  are  bound  to  cherish, 
shall  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the  town.  Sir,  in  a 
word,  you,  and  you  only,  can  save  that  person ; 
need  I  say  more  ? ' 

'  Did  she  send  you  with  this  message  to  save  your 
own  skin .-'  ' 

'  That  is  past  saving,  except  by  a  miracle,  which 
I  am  in  no  situation  to  expect  will  be  wrought  for 
me.  Understand  me,  sir,  I  am  out  of  hope  of 
earthly  salvation.  I  have  nothing  to  gain,  nothing 
to  look  for  from  man.  I  make  you  freely  acquainted 
with  that  position  of  my  affairs,  which  are  purely 
desperate.  And  the  person  of  whom  we  speak  looks 
to  you  as  her  sole  hope  in  the  world.  She  sends 
you  this,  take  it,  I  know  not  the  contents,  the  seal, 
as  you  perceive,  being  unbroken. ' 

'This  looks  more  serious, '  said  the  Colonel,  tak- 
ing the  sealed  note  which  Kelly  handed  to  him. 

21 


32  2  PARSON    KELLY 

He  pored  over  the  letter,  holding  it  up  to  the 
moonlight.  '  Do  as  the  bearer  bids  you,  if  you 
would  have  me  live,'  he  read;  then,  with  a  bitter 
laugh,  he  tore  the  note  into  the  smallest  shreds, 
and  was  about  to  dash  them  down  on  the  grass. 

'Hold,  sir,'  Kelly  said;  'preserve  them  till  you 
can  burn  them.  Or  —  I  have  myself  swallowed  the 
like  before  now. ' 

The  Colonel  stared,  and  put  the  fragments  into 
his  pocket-book. 

'  Well,'  he  said,  *  I  am  hearing  you.' 

'  I  thank  you,  sir;  you  will  grant  that  I  did  not 
wrong  you  in  trusting  your  generosity.  If  I  am  a 
free  man  to-morrow,  or  even  to-night  after  this 
business  is  done,  I  shall  have  the  honour  of  meeting 
you,  wherever  you  are  pleased  to  appoint.  For  my 
cloth  have  no  scruple,  I  never  was  more  than  half  a 
parson. ' 

'  Sir,  I  shall  treat  you  as  you  may  merit.  And 
now  for  your  commands,  which,  it  seems,  I  am  in  a 
manner  under  the  necessity  to  obey.' 

'  You  see  this  key,  sir,'  said  Kelly,  offering  that 
of  one  of  his  strong  boxes,  '  take  it,  go  to  my  lodg- 
ings, which,  by  a  miracle,  are  in  the  same  house  as 
your  own.  Enter  my  parlour,  't  is  on  the  ground 
floor;  open  the  small  iron  strong  box  which  this  key 
fits,  and  burn  all  the  —  brocades  which  you  find  there. ' 

'This  is  a  most  ingenious  stroke  of  the  theatre! 
I  am  to  burn,  I  perceive,  all  the  papers,  or  brocades 
as  you  call  them,  which  damn  you  for  a  Jacobite 
plotter !  It  is  not  badly  contrived,  sir,  but  you  have 
come  to  the  wrong  agent.  I  am  acquainted  with  the 
ingenious  works  of  the  French  playwrights. ' 


PARSON    KELLY  323 

*  Sir,  you  compel  me,  against  my  will,  to  be  more 
plain  with  you  than  I  desire.  It  is  your  own  fault 
if  I  give  you  concern.  On  opening  the  coffer  you 
may  satisfy  yourself  of  the  hand  of  the  writer,  which 
cannot  but  be  familiar  to  you.  Moreover,  the  letters 
of  the  person  for  whom  we  are  concerned  are 
addressed  (that  you  may  not  make  the  error  which 
you  apprehend)  to  one  Strephon  —  not  a  cant  name 
of  a  political  plot. ' 

*  She  called  you  —  Strephon .'' ' 

*  She  was  so  kind.' 

'And  I  was  Corydon, '  groaned  the  Colonel 
between  his  teeth. 

*  Arcades  avtbo ! '  said  George.  'But  now  'tis 
the  hour  of  a  third  shepherd  !  Lycidas,  perhaps,  le 
plus  heurenx  des  trois.  Oh,  Colonel,  be  easy,  we  are 
both  yesterday's  roses,  or,  rather,  I  am  the  rose  of 
the  day  before  yesterday. ' 

'  And  it  is  for  this  woman  —  ' 

'  Ay,  it  is  just  for  this  woman  that  you  are  to 
risk  your  commission,  for  a  risk  there  may  be,  and 
I  my  life,  for  I  could  get  away  from  this  place. 
You  perceive  that  we  have  no  alternative.?' 

'What  must  be,  must,'  he  said,  after  some 
moments  of  thought ;  '  but  what  if  I  find  the  Mes- 
sengers already  in  possession  of  your  effects } ' 

'  In  that  case  I  must  depend  solely  on  your  own 
management  and  invention.  But  I  may  say  that 
gold  will  do  much,  nay,  everything  with  such  fel- 
lows, and  your  position,  moreover,  as  a  trusted 
officer  of  your  King's,  will  enable  you  to  satisfy 
men  not  very  eminent  for  scruples.' 

*  Gold !     I  have  not  a  guinea,  thanks  to  the  cards, 


324  PARSON    KELLY 

not  a  stiver  in  my  rooms  to-night.     The  cards  took 
all' 

'  Here,  at  least, '  cried  George,  '  I  can  offer  some 
kind  of  proof  of  my  honesty,  and  even  be  of  service. 
I  am  poor,  Heaven  knows,  but  there  are  my  win- 
nings, easily  enough  to  corrupt  four  Messengers. 
Use  the  money;  I  have  friends  who  will  not  let  me 
starve  in  the  Tower.  Nay,  delicacy  is  purely  foolish. 
I  insist  that  you  take  it. ' 

*  Mr.  Johnson,'  the  Colonel  said,  'you  are  a  very 
extraordinary  man. ' 

*  Sir,  I  am  an  Irishman,'  said  George. 

'  I  will  not  say  that  I  never  met  one  like  you,  but 
I  hope,  after  all  accounts  are  settled  between  us,  to 
have  the  advantage  of  your  acquaintance.  Sir,  aic 
revoir. ' 

'  I  shall  be  with  you,  sir,  in  ten  minutes  after 
your  arrival  in  your  lodgings,  whether  the  coast  be 
clear  or  not.  But  let  me  attend  you  across  the  Park, 
as  far  as  the  corner  of  Pall  Mall  Street. ' 

If  Kelly  was  an  Irishman,  Montague  was  an 
Englishman,  and  Kelly  was  well  enough  acquainted 
with  that  nation  to  know  that  the  last  proof  given  of 
his  disinterestedness  was  by  much  the  most  power- 
ful he  could  have  used.  He  reflected  again  on  the 
Devil's  own  luck  of  Smilinda  that  night,  for  if  the 
cards  had  gone  contrary  to  her  and  George  he  could 
not  have  produced  this  demonstration  of  his  loyalty, 
nor  could  he  very  well  have  invited  the  Colonel  to 
pay  the  piper  out  of  his  own  pocket. 

The  Colonel  also  walked  silently,  turning  about 
in  his  mind  all  the  aspects  of  this  affair. 

'  I  understand, '  he  said,  '  that  you  are  upon  honour 


i 


PARSON    KELLY  325 

not  to  involve  me  in  tampering  with  anything  dis- 
affected ?  You  will  take  no  advantage  whatever 
that  may  give  me  the  air  of  being  concerned,  to 
shelter  yourself  or  your  party  ?  ' 

*  You  have  my  word  for  it,  sir.  Your  honour, 
next  to  that  in  which  we  are  equally  concerned,  is 
now  my  foremost  consideration.' 

He  nodded,  then  sighed,  as  one  not  very  well 
satisfied. 

'  Things  may  come  to  wear  a  very  suspicious  com- 
plexion, but  I  must  risk  a  little;  the  worse  the  luck. 
Mr.  Johnson,  neither  of  us  has  been  very  wise  in 
the  beginnings  of  this   business.' 

*  I  came  to  that  conclusion  rather  earlier  than 
you,   sir,   and  on  very  good  evidence. ' 

'  No  doubt, '  growled  Montague,  and  he  muttered 
once  or  twice,  '  Strephon,  Corydon  —  Corydon, 
Strephon. '  Then  he  turned  unexpectedly  to  Kelly. 
'  You  mentioned  these  letters  as  I  was  leaving  the 
room,  and  I  noticed  that  her  ladyship  grew  white. 
She  kept  you,  she  knew  then  of  the  danger  you  were 
in  and  has  just  informed  you  of  it.  Now,  how  came 
she  to  have  so  particular  a  knowledge  of  your 
danger? ' 

Mr.  Kelly  did  not  answer  a  question  which  boded 
no  good  for  Lady  Oxford.  '  She  had  grounds  of 
resentment  against  you  in  a  certain  ballad. ' 

Kelly  seized  at  the  chance  of  diverting  Montague 
from  his  suspicions,  and  showed  how  the  ballad  was 
aimed  at  him  no  less  than  at  her  ladyship,  and, 
without  giving  the  Colonel  time  to  interrupt, 

'  Here  I  must  bid  you  an  revoir,  sir,'  he  said,  '  for 
some  ten  minutes,  time  enough  for  you  to  do  what 


326  PARSON    KELLY 

is  needed,  if,  as  I  hope,  you  are  not  disturbed.  The 
Messengers,  1  conceive,  will  be  lurking  for  me  in 
Ryder  Street  outside  our  common  door;  they  will 
not  think  of  preventing  you  from  entering,  and  be- 
fore I  arrive,  whatever  befalls  me,  our  common  in- 
terest will  be  secured.' 

'  You  are  determined  to  follow?  ' 

'  What  else  can  I  do.?  I  must  know  the  end  of 
this  affair  of  the  brocades.  It  is  not  wholly  impos- 
sible that  the  Messengers  have  wearied  of  waiting, 
and  think  to  take  me  abed  to-morrow.  When  you 
have  done  what  you  know,  you  will  leave  my  room, 
and  I,  if  I  am  not  taken,  have  some  arrangements  of 
my  own  to  make.  That,  I  presume,  is  not  a  breach 
of  my  engagement  with  you  ?  ' 

'  Certainly  not,  sir.  When  I  have  left  your  room 
I  am  in  no  sense  responsible  for  your  actions.  I 
wish  you  good  fortune. ' 

While  they  thus  walked  and  were  sad  enough, 
they  came  within  ear-shot  of  Wogan,  who,  at  that 
moment,  was  declaiming  Mr.  Pope's  Night  piece  to 
Mr.   Scrope,   who  was  in  the  Canal. 

What  conversation  passed  between  the  four  gentle- 
men Wogan  has  already  told,  and  he  has  mentioned 
how  the  Colonel  went  away,  and  how,  after  using 
pains  to  prevent  Mr.  Scrope  from  catching  a  cold, 
he  himself  withdrew  to  court  slumber,  and  left  Mr. 
Kelly  alone  in  the  moonlight. 

Mr.  Kelly  did  not  remain  in  the  open,  but  lay 
perdu  on  the  shadowy  side  of  the  grove.  Conceal- 
ing himself  from  any  chance  of  a  rencounter,  he 
allotted  a  space  of  twelve  minutes  by  his  watch,  and 
time  never  paced  more  tardy  with  him   in  all  his 


PARSON   KELLY  327 

life.  There  was  in  his  favour  but  the  one  chance 
that  the  Messengers  might  choose  to  take  him  abed 
in  the  early  morning,  when  the  streets  would  be 
empty.  At  this  moment  St.  James's  Street  was 
full  of  chairs  and  noises ;  night-rakers  were  abroad, 
and  the  Messengers,  who  are  not  very  popular, 
might  fear  a  rescue  by  the  rabble.  On  this  chance 
Kelly  fixed  his  hopes,  for  if  he  could  but  be  alone 
for  ten  minutes  in  his  lodgings,  he  and  his  friends 
would  have  little  to  fear  from  any  evidence  in  his 
possession. 

If  the  Colonel  succeeded.  Lady, Oxford,  and,  with 
her  ladyship,  George's  honour,  were  safe.  If,  by  an 
especial  miracle  of  heaven,  George  could  have  a  few 
minutes  alone  in  his  room,  the  Cause  and  the  faith- 
ful of  the  Cause  would  be  safe.  The  Colonel, 
Kelly  hoped,  could  hardly  fail  to  do  his  part  of  the 
work;  he  would  enter  his  own  rooms  unchallenged, 
his  uniform  and  well-known  face  must  secure  him 
as  much  as  that,  and  the  Epistles  of  Smilinda 
would  lie  in  ashes. 

So  he  hoped,  but  nothing  occurred  as  he  antici- 
pated. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

HOW  THE  MESSENGERS  CAPTURED  THE  WRONG 
GENTLEMAN  ;  AND  OF  WHAT  LETTERS  THE 
COLONEL   BURNED. 

FOR  Colonel  Montague  was  taken  in  Mr.  Kelly's 
place,  as  you  may  see  with  your  own  eyes  in 
his  Grace  of  Dorset's  Report  to  the  Lords'  Com- 
mittees, where  the  informations  of  John  Hutchins 
and  Daniel  Chandler,  described  as  *  two  of  his 
Majesty's  Messengers  in  Ordinary,'  are  printed. 
These  did  not  chance  to  be  men  of  a  very  high 
degree  of  intelligence,  as  their  own  confessions  bear 
testimony,  in  itself  a  fortunate  circumstance. 

Colonel  Montague,  when  he  parted  from  the 
Parson  at  the  grove  in  St.  James's  Park,  walked 
into  Pall  Mall  Street  by  the  path  at  the  corner  of 
St.  James's  House  and  up  to  St.  James's  Street  to 
the  corner  of  Ryder  Street,  where  he  turned. 
Ryder  Street,  what  with  gentlemen  walking  home 
on  the  footpaths  and  chairs  carried  in  the  road,  was 
a  busy  thoroughfare  at  this  time  of  the  night,  and 
he  remarked  nothing  extraordinary  until  he  was 
close  to  his  own  doorstep.  Then  he  distinguished, 
or  rather  seemed  to  distinguish  —  for  in  the  doubtful 
light  he  could  not  be  certain  —  at  a  little  distance 


PARSON    KELLY  329 

on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road  a  man  in  the  blue 
and  silver  livery  of  Lady  Oxford.  The  man  was 
loitering  at  the  edge  of  the  path,  taking  a  few  steps 
now  this  way  now  that.  He  was  tall,  and  not  un- 
like Mr.  Wogan  in  his  girth.  Now,  Colonel 
Montague  was  aware  that  her  ladyship  possessed  a 
lackey  of  just  such  a  conspicuous  figure. 

'For  once  in  a  while,'  he  thought,  'the  news- 
sheet  spoke  truth  to-night.  It  seems  it  zvas  Lady 
Oxford  that  set  the  reverend  non-juror,  for  here  is 
her  lackey  to  point  him  out  to  the  Messengers.' 

With  this  thought  urging  him  to  get  his  business 
done  quickly,  Montague  walked  up  to  his  door  and 
knocked.  On  the  instant,  three  men  ran  across  the 
road  and  collared  him.  The  capture  was  observed 
by  one  or  two  gentlemen,  who  stopped,  and  imme- 
diately a  small  crowd  began  to  gather  about  them. 

Montague  was  prudent  enough  to  waste  no  time 
in  a  useless  struggle  with  the  Messengers,  and 
asked  them  quietly  who  they  were  and  what  they 
intended.  At  this  moment  the  door  was  opened  by 
Mrs.  Kilburne's  maid,  and  the  Messengers,  lifting 
the  Colonel  up,  carried  him  into  the  house.  Hutchins, 
a  short,  stoutish  fellow,  who  was  the  chief  of  the 
three  men,  told  the  Colonel  who  they  were. 

'  And  we  hold  a  warrant  for  your  apprehension 
under  Lord  Townshend's  seal,'  he  said,  and  showed 
his  scutcheon  and  the  warrant. 

'  Not  for  my  apprehension,'  replied  Montague. 
'There  is  one  without  there  who  can  speak  for  me.' 
For  the  door  was  still  open  to  the  street,  and 
amongst  the  people  who  thronged  the  entrance,  he 
now  saw  very  clearly  the  blue  and  silver  livery  of 


330  PARSON    KELLY 

her  ladyship.  The  lackey,  however,  pushed  back- 
wards out  of  range,  and  since  those  who  were  fore- 
most of  the  crowd  turned  about  to  see  who  it  was 
that  Montague  pointed  to,  Hutchins  took  the  occa- 
sion to  close  the  door  in  their  faces. 

*  You  are  George  Kelly,  alias  James  Johnson, 
alias  Joseph  Andrews,'  said  he,  turning  again  to 
Colonel  Montague,  and  reading  out  from  the  war- 
rant a  number  of  names  by  which  the  Parson  was 
known  to  the  honest  party. 

'  It  is  the  first  I  have  heard  of  it,'  replied  Mon- 
tague, and  he  invited  the  Messengers  up  to  his 
rooms  on  the  first  floor,  where  he  would  be  happy  to 
satisfy  them  of  their  mistake.  Mrs.  Kilburne  had 
now  joined  her  maid  in  the  passage,  and  she  fol- 
lowed the  Messengers  up  the  stairs,  wringing  her 
hands  over  the  disgrace  which,  through  no  fault  of 
hers,  had  fallen  upon  her  house.  When  they  were 
come  within  the  room,  Montague  threw  open  his 
cloak,  which  he  wore  wrapped  about  his  shoulders, 
and  discovered  his  scarlet  coat  beneath  it. 

*  I  am  Colonel  Montague,'  he  said,  '  and  an  ofificer 
under  the  King  as  well  as  you.  If  there  is  work  to 
be  done  for  the  King,  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  assist 
you.  I  fought  for  the  King  at  Preston,'  and  he 
made  a  great  flourish  of  his  services  and  valorous 
acts,  not  being  sure  that  the  Messengers  had  rein- 
forcements without,  and  hoping  that  Mr.  Kelly 
might  enter  meanwhile  and  do  what  was  needful. 
Mrs.  Kilburne's  tongue  and  care  for  the  Parson 
seemed  likely  to  forward  this  plan,  for,  with  many 
unnecessary  words,  she  declared  how  the  Colonel  had 
lodged  with  her  for  years. 


PARSON    KELLY  331 

'And  as  for  Mr.  Johnson,'  she  said,  'there  was 
such  a  man  who  came  and  went,  but  he  lodged  with 
Mrs.  Barnes  in  Bury  Street,  and  there  you  should 
go  if  you  seek  for  news  of  him. ' 

But  the  ten  minutes  were  not  yet  gone.  The 
maid  remained  downstairs  in  the  passage.  She  was 
a  perfectly  honest  poor  wench,  who  would  have 
risked  herself  for  the  Parson  or  for  any  gentleman 
in  distress.  But  Montague,  however  closely  he 
listened,  could  not  hear  that  she  opened  the  door, 
or  any  noise  in  the  room  below. 

Hutchins  made  his  apologies  with  a  great  many 
'your  honours,'  and  the  Colonel  was  no  less  polite 
in  his  compliments  upon  Hutchins's  zeal,  which  he 
would  be  sure  to  make  known  in  the  proper  quarters. 
But  still  the  Parson  did  not  come,  and  Montague 
could  hold  the  Messengers  in  talk  no  longer,  though 
that  would  have  been  of  little  use,  as  he  now 
discovered. 

For  Hutchins  turned  about  to  Chandler,  — 

'  Go  down  into  the  street  and  tell  Lyng  and  Ran- 
dall,' he  said,  '  that  our  man  is  not  come.  Bid  them 
watch  for  him  at  the  corner  of  Ryder  Street  and  St. 
James's.'  And  as  he  spoke  he  gave  Chandler  the 
warrant.  Chandler  slipped  it  into  his  pocket,  and 
ran  downstairs  to  join  the  others  of  his  worshipful 
calling  in  the  street.  Hutchins  followed  him,  but 
remained  within,  in  the  passage,  to  watch  the  maid 
of  the  house,  and  sec  that  she  did  not  go  out  to  warn 
the  Parson. 

The  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Kilburne  were  thus  left 
alone. 

'  Mrs.  Kilburne,'  said  Montague.     '  You  must  take 


332  PARSON    KELLY 

my  word  for  it,  I  am  Mr.  Kelly's  friend,  and  with- 
out any  argument,  if  you  please. '  For  he  saw  that 
she  was  on  the  point  of  interrupting  him.  '  There 
is  but  one  thing  you  can  do  for  him.  Send  some- 
one you  can  trust,  or  go  yourself  to  lure  the  Mes- 
sengers off  to  Mrs.  Barnes's  house.  But  you  must 
be  quick,  and  here  's  money  to  help  you.' 

He  filled  her  hands  with  the  Parson's  gold,  and 
she,  in  her  turn,  went  downstairs  and  out  of  the 
house  by  a  door  at  the  back.  Montague,  for  his 
part,  had  it  in  mind  to  try  whether  the  like  means 
might  not  over-persuade  Hutchins's  zeal.  With  that 
design  he  descended  to  Hutchins,  whom  he  found 
lighting  a  candle  in  Mr.  Kelly's  room  with  the  door 
open  so  that  he  might  command  a  view  of  the  maid 
who  was  still  waiting  in  the  passage. 

The  Colonel  stepped  into  the  room,  casting  his 
eyes  about  for  the  strong-box  with  Smilinda's  letters, 
which  he  could  not  see.  He  saw  the  scrutoire, 
however,  which  stood  in  the  window  with  the  lid 
closed.  Hutchins  held  the  candle  above  his  head 
and  remarked  it  at  the  same   time. 

'  I  will  search  the  rooms,'  he  said  with  an  air  of 
consequence.  Colonel  Montague  was  in  a  quandary. 
Hutchins  had  only  to  throw  back  the  lid  and  the 
Parson's  strong-box  would  be  in  his  hands.  He 
had  only  then  to  break  open  the  lock,  and  all 
Smilinda's  dainty  sentiments  about  the  union  of  souls 
would  be  splotched  over  by  the  dirty  thumbs  of  a 
constable.  And  the  Colonel  could  not  prevent  the 
sacrilege  unless  the  money  did  it  for  him. 

'  Mr.  Hutchins,'  he  said,  and  jingled  the  gold  in 
his  pockets.      But  he  got  no  further  in  his  persua- 


PARSON    KELLY  333 

sions.  For  the  name  was  scarce  off  his  lips  when 
a  hubbub  arose  without.  It  was  a  confusion  of 
noise  at  the  first  as  though  it  came  from  the  end  of 
the  street. 

'They  have  taken  him,'  said  Hutch  ins,  setting 
down  the  candle  and  flinging  aside  the  curtains  of 
the  window. 

The  noise  was  louder,  and  Kelly's  voice  was 
heard,  bawling,  'A  rescue!  An  arrest!  an  arrest! 
A  rescue!'  that  the  rabble  might  think  he  was 
taken  for  debt.  Those  who  were  gathered  in  front 
of  the  house  did  indeed  turn  themselves  about,  but 
they  were  for  the  most  part  of  the  better  class,  and 
the  night-rakers  and  such-like  who  might  have 
attempted  a  rescue,  only  came  up  behind  at  Mr. 
Kelly's  bawling,  from  St.  James's  Street,  where 
they  were  likely  to  find  more  profit  than  in  Ryder 
Street.  This  friendly  mob  was  running  together 
indeed,  but  came  too  late. 

*  Yes,  they  have  taken  him,'  said  Montague.  Mrs. 
Kilburne  had  not  drawn  the  Messengers  off.  On  the 
other  hand,  Hutchins  had  not  (5^ened  Mr.  Kelly's 
scrutoire.  '  They  have  taken  him,'  and  the  Parson 
was  already  under  the  window.  His  sword  was 
gleaming  in  his  hand  but  the  Messengers  dragged 
upon  his  arms  and  he  could  not  use  it. 

Hutchins  threw  up  the  window. 

'  Bring  him  in,'  and  he  rushed  to  the  street  door 
and  unlocked  it.  Kelly  was  hustled  up  the  steps, 
shouting  all  the  while.  He  was  forced  into  the 
passage  just  as  the  rabble  came  up  at  his  heels. 

'  A  rescue  ! '  they  cried. 

Lyng  and  Chandler  turned  about  and  drove  them 


334 


PARSON    KELLY 


back.      Randall  sprang  in  after  Kelly  and  slammed 
the  door. 

The  posture  of  affairs  then  was  this : 

Colonel  Montague  and  Hutchins  were  standing 
in  Mr.  Kelly's  room  close  to  the  scrutoire  and  the 
open  window. 

Mr.  Kelly,  Lyng,  who  was  a  big  lout,  designed 
by  Providence  for  this  office  and  no  other,  and  the 
maid,  were  in  the  passage.  Randall  and  Chandler 
were  outside  in  the  street  and  at  their  wits'  ends  to 
keep  back  the  mob,  which  was  now  grown  very 
clamorous. 

Mr.  Kelly  was  the  first  to  make  any  movement. 
He  sheathed  his  sword,  carefully  dusted  the  sleeves 
of  his  coat  where  the  Messengers  had  held  him  and 
arranged  his  cravat. 

*  These  are  ill  times  for  a  peaceful  man  to  live  in,' 
he  said.  *  It  seems  a  gentleman  cannot  walk  home 
of  an  evening  but  he  must  be  set  upon  and  cuffed.' 

With  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  as  though  the 
whole  matter  was  a  mystery,  he  sauntered  into  his 
parlour.  His  eyes  carelessly  took  in  the  room.  It 
seemed  that  nothing  had  been  disturbed.  The 
scrutoire  was  shut,  but  were  Smilinda's  letters  still 
hidden  there  or  were  they  safe  in  Montague's 
pockets?  His  eyes  rested  on  the  Colonel's  face  and 
put  the  question.  But  the  Colonel  gave  no  sign; 
Hutchins  stood  at  his  elbow.  Kelly's  eyes  travelled 
from  the  Colonel's  face  to  his  red  coat. 

'  One  of  the  King's  officers,'  he  said  with  a  smile. 
'  In  the  presence  of  one  of  the  King's  officers, 
gentlemen,'  he  said  politely  with  a  bow  to  Hutchins, 
'  I    take    it    that    you   will    forgo    your    ingenious 


PARSON    KELLY  335 

attempt  to  rob  me  and  we  may  all  go  quietly  to 
bed.' 

He  moved  as  he  spoke  towards  the  scrutoire,  and 
again  looked  at  the  Colonel.  The  Colonel's  face 
was  still  a  blank. 

'  We  hold  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  George  Kelly, 
alias  James  Johnson,'  began  Hutchins. 

'  Indeed? '  replied  George  with  an  effort  of  atten- 
tion, as  though  fatigue  put  a  strain  upon  his  good 
manners.  *  And  why  should  George  Kelly  prefer  to 
call  himself  James  Johnson.''  I  cannot  think  it  is 
the  better  name.  Mr.  George  Kelly  lacks  taste,  I 
am  afraid,'  and  he  stifled  a  yawn  with  his  hand. 

'Colonel  Montague,'  said  Hutchins,  who  was  in 
some  perplexity  as  to  what  to  make  of  Kelly's 
present  indifference,  '  your  honour  promised  to  assist 
me.' 

Colonel  Montague  being  appealed  to,  nodded  his 
head. 

'Though  you  will  not  need  my  assistance,'  he 
said,  '  for  here  is  another  of  your  fellows. ' 

Chandler  had  come  within  the  house,  and  pushing 
into  the  room  said  that  the  curtains  were  drawn 
apart  so  that  the  rabble  could  see  clearly  all  that 
happened  in  the  room  and  were  on  that  account  the 
less  inclined  to  disperse.  As  he  spoke  he  hitched 
the  curtains  to  and  a  volley  of  curses  went  up  from 
the  disappointed  crowd. 

Hutchins  immediately  turned  to  Kelly. 

'  Give  me  your  sword.' 

Kelly,  who  knew  not  what  to  make  of  the 
Colonel's  manner,  but  thought  it  likely  he  had 
taken  his  measures,  took  his  sword  by  the  hanger 


336  PARSON    KELLY 

and  handed  it  sheath  and  all  to  Hutchins,  who  in  his 
turn  passed  it  to  Montague.  Montague  stood  in  the 
corner  by  the  window. 

'There  is  some  stupid  blunder,'  said  Kelly, 
'  which  I  cannot  take  it  upon  me  to  understand. 
You  talk  to  me  a  great  deal  about  a  warrant,  but  I 
have  not  seen  it.  It  is  a  new  thing  to  come  taking 
off  gentlemen  to  the  round-house  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  without  a  warrant,  but  we  live  in  ill 
times.'  All  this  he  said  with  an  admirable  air  of 
resignation,  though  his  eyes  kept  glancing  towards 
Montague,  who  still  dared  give  no  sign.  The 
Colonel  waited  upon  occasion;  his  present  aim  was 
to  hinder  the  Messengers  from  any  suspicion  that 
the  Parson  and  he  were  in  one  purpose  or  indeed 
were  acquainted. 

In  answer  to  Kelly,  Chandler  took  the  warrant 
from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  Colonel  Montague, 
who  read  it  through. 

'  It  is  a  very  sufficient  warrant, '  he  said,  '  and  this 
gentleman  may  be  satisfied  if  he  is  rightly  named, 
of  which'of  course  I  have  no  assurance,'  and  folding 
the  paper  he  handed  it  back  to  Chandler.  Where- 
upon Chandler  went  out  again  into  the  street  to 
guard  the  door  from  the  rabble. 

Hutchins  then  took  Kelly's  hat,  placed  it  on  the 
table,  and  searching  his  pockets,  pulled  out  some 
papers  which  he  had  about  him,  things  of  no  moment; 
and  these  papers  he  laid  in  the  hat.  But  to  search 
Kelly's  pockets  Hutchins  must  needs  stoop.  Here 
was  the  Colonel's  chance.  Over  Hutchins'  shoulder, 
Kelly's  eyes  again  put  their  question.  The  Colonel 
now  answered  with  a  shake  of  the  head.     Smilinda's 


PARSON    KELLY  ^37 

letters  had  not  been  saved,  a  great  surprise  and 
disappointment  to  the  Parson,  who  of  course  knew 
nothing  of  Montague's  mistaken  arrest. 

Kelly,  however,  wasted  no  precious  moments  in 
regrets.  As  Hutch  ins  turned  to  place  the  papers  in 
the  hat,  Kelly  thrust  Lyng  aside,  and,  springing  to 
the  window,  tore  aside  the  curtains  and  again  bawled 
at  the  top  of  his  voice.     '  A  rescue !     An  arrest! ' 

Shouts  of  encouragement  greeted  him ;  the  hubbub 
filled  the  street  again.  Hutchins  and  Lyng  at  once 
sprang  upon  Kelly,  tore  him  back  from  the  window, 
and  sent  him  staggering  across  the  room. 

'Tie  his  hands!'  cried  Hutchins,  as  he  pulled 
down  the  sash.  '  Knock  him  down !  Gag  him  I  ' 
and  he  turned  to  help  Lyng. 

The  maid  in  the  passage  began  to  cry;  the  Colonel 
stood  irresolute;  the  Parson  drew  himself  up  against 
the  wall  as  the  two  men  approached  him.  His  Irish 
blood  bubbled  in  his  veins  at  the  prospect  of  so  fine 
a  tumble.  He  clenched  his  hands.  He  forgot 
Smilinda's  letter,  the  Cause,  even  Rose.  His  face 
became  one  broad  grin  and  in  an  accent  as  broad  as 
the  grin. 

*  And  what  '11  I  be  doin'  while  you  're  tyin'  my 
hands .■•'  he  asked.  'Why,  just  this,'  and  his  fist 
shot  out  like  a  battering-ram  and  took  the  worthy 
Lyng  on  the  tip  of  the  chin.  Mr.  Lyng  was  clean 
lifted  off  both  his  feet  and  so  sat  down  on  the  floor 
with  some  violence,  where  he  felt  his  neck  in  a 
dazed  sort  of  way  to  make  sure  that  it  was  not 
broken. 

'Oh,  why  isn't  Nick  here?'  cried  Kelly,  and 
indeed  Nicholas  Wogan  bewails  his  absence  at  that 

22 


338  PARSON   KELLY 

festivity  to  this  day.  '  Come,  Mr.  Hutchins,  I  have 
the  other  fist  for  you, '  and  he  began  to  dance  towards 
Hutchins,  who  called  on  the  Colonel  to  mark  the 
murderous  look  in  the  prisoner's  eyes  and  save  him 
from  immediate  destruction. 

'  Is  it  destruction  you  want.-* '  asked  Kelly  with  a 
chuckle.  *  I  '11  gratify  you  with  all  the  destruction 
imaginable. '  And  no  doubt  he  would  have  been  as 
good  as  his  word.  But  Hutchins,  while  shutting 
the  window  had  not  drawn  the  curtains,  and  the 
rabble  in  the  street  had  thus  enjoyed  a  full  view  of 
the  Parson's  prowess.  They  had  roared  their 
applause  when  Lyng  went  down,  and  as  Hutchins 
drew  back  before  the  Parson's  fisticuffs,  they  hooted 
the  Messenger  for  a  coward  and  made  a  rush  at  the 
door.  A  stone  or  two  shattered  the  window  and  a 
voice  was  yelling,  '  Murder !  murder !  '  in  tones  of 
unmistakable  sincerity.  Chandler  then  rushed  in, 
his  face  bleeding,  and  said  that  Randall  was  being 
mobbed,  and,  if  they  did  not  come  to  help  him, 
would  be  knocked  on  the  head.  At  this,  Lyng,  who 
was  now  got  to  his  feet,  ran  out  into  the  street  with 
Chandler.  Hutchins  remained  in  the  room,  but 
cried  out  to  Chandler  that  he  should  go  or  send  for 
a  file  of  musquets. 

Now  Chandler,  when  he  rushed  into  the  room,  was 
holding  the  warrant  in  his  hand,  he  still  held  it 
when  he  ran  out  again,  as  the  Parson  remarked,  and 
instantly  thought  of  a  plan  by  which,  after  all, 
Smilinda's  letters  might  be  secured,  and  her  name 
kept  wholly  out  of  the  business.  Accordingly  he 
ceased  from  his  warlike  posture  and  sat  down  in  a 
chair.      Hutchins    took    the    occasion   to    draw   the 


PARSON   KELLY  339 

curtains  and  shut  out  the  mob  from  a  view  of  the 
room.  Mr.  Kelly  smiled,  for  he  was  just  wondering 
what  excuse  he  could  discover  to  do  that  very  thing 
himself.      Mr.  Hutchins  was  helping  him  very  well. 

'  It  is  a  pity,'  said  the  Parson  in  a  plaintive  voice, 
sucking  his  knuckles,  which  were  bleeding,  '  that  a 
peaceful,  law-abiding  citizen  must  put  himself  to 
so  much  discomfort  because  a  couple  of  rascally 
Messengers  will  not  show  him  their  warrant. ' 

'It  is  under  Lord  Townshend's  seal,'  began 
Hutchins. 

'  It  may  be,  or  it  may  not  be.  I  have  not  seen  it. 
I  cannot  really  surrender  unless  the  proper  formali- 
ties are  observed. ' 

Hutchins,  who  was  no  doubt  well  pleased  to  see 
the  peaceful  turn  things  were  taking  and  had  not 
the  wits  to  suspect  it,  replied  with  an  oafish  grin 
that  the  prisoner  was  wise  to  submit  himself  to  his 
lawful  captors. 

*  And  as  for  the  warrant,  Chandler  has  it  safe 
enough  in  the  street.' 

*  In  the  street!'  cried  Kelly,  suddenly  flying  into 
a  passion.  '  And  what 's  the  warrant  doing  in  the 
street  ?  How  dare  the  warrant  be  in  the  street 
when  it  is  intended  for  a  gentleman  in  the  house.!* 
Upon  my  word  it  would  take  very  little  to  persuade 
me  that  there  's  no  warrant  at  all,'  and  he  began  to 
stamp  and  fume  about  the  room. 

'  Colonel  Montague  has  read  it,'  said  Hutchins. 

*  I  certainly  read  a  warrant,'  agreed  the  Colonel 
with  an  impartial  air. 

*  A  warrant,  yes,'  said  Kelly  in  a  testy  voice. 
'  But  how  can  the  Colonel  know  whether  it  is  in- 


340  PARSON    KELLY 

tended  for  me?  How  can  he  know  whether  it  is 
a  real  warrant  at  all  ?  You  come  here  with  a 
scutcheon,  Mr.  Hutchins.  But  you  might  have 
stolen  the  scutcheon,  as  you  have  certainly  forged 
the  warrant.'  He  stopped  in  front  of  Hutchins  and 
wagged  his  head  at  him.  '  Mr.  Hutchins,  I  begin 
to  suspect  you  are  one  of  a  gang  of  cheats  come  here 
to  rob  me.  But  I  will  not  be  your  gull,'  he  cried 
out  as  though  his  fury  overmastered  him.  *  No,  nor 
his  worship  the  Colonel  either,'  and  he  called  to  the 
maid  to  lock  the  street  door. 

'Lock  it,'  said  he.  'Lock  the  door  and  Mr. 
Hutchins  and  I  will  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  matter 
quietly.' 

That  very  thing  now  happened  which  Mr.  Kelly 
most  desired.  The  maid  ran  down  the  passage  to 
the  street  door:  Hutchins  ran  out  of  the  room  after 
her  to  prevent  her  locking  it.  Kelly  flung  to  the 
door  of  the  parlour:  Mr.  Hutchins  was  outside,  the 
Colonel  and  Kelly  were  alone  within  the  room. 

'  My  sword,'  said  the  Parson  in  a  quick  whisper. 
Montague  held  it  out  to  him  without  a  word :  he 
had  no  right  to  refuse  it  to  a  free  man.  Kelly 
snatched  the  hilt;  the  blade  rattled  out  of  the 
scabbard ;  he  stood  on  guard  with  his  naked 
blade. 

Meanwhile  Hutchins  and  the  maid  were  quar- 
relling in  the  passage  over  the  door  key,  as  Kelly 
could  distinguish  from  their  voices. 

He  made  a  quick  step  towards  the  window,  threw 
open  the  scrutoire,  and  returned  to  his  station  at  the 
door.  But  he  had  not  so  much  as  glanced  at  the 
scrutoire;  he  had  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  door. 


PARSON    KELLY  341 

Still  keeping  his  eyes  so  fixed,  he  pointed  towards 
the  strong  boxes. 

'Be  quick,'  he  whispered.  'In  the  strong  box! 
Take  the  candle  and  have  done.  You  know  the 
hand,   and  you  have  the  key. ' 

Montague  pulled  the  key  from  his  pocket,  and 
fumbled  at  the  lock. 

'It  will  not  fit,'  he  said  under  his  breath  and 
swore. 

'  Be  quick,'  repeated  Kelly. 

The  key  rattled  in  the  lock  as  the  Colonel  turned 
it  this  way  and  that.  Mr.  Kelly  was  about  to  throw 
a  glance  over  his  shoulder  when  he  saw  the  handle 
of  the  door  turn.  It  was  turned  cautiously  without 
any  noise.  The  next  moment  the  door  flew  open. 
Fortunately  it  opened  upwards  towards  the  window 
and  the  scrutoire.  Kelly  stopped  it  with  his  foot 
when  it  was  but  half  open,  so  that  Montague  was 
entirely  hidden  behind  the  panels  from  the  eyes 
of  any  one  on  the  threshold  or  in  the  passage. 
Hutchins  was  on  the  threshold  peering  into  the 
room.  But  he  did  not  peer  long,  for  at  the  same 
moment  that  Kelly  stopped  the  door  with  his  foot 
he  made  at  Hutchins,  with  his  sword,  a  pass  so  vigor- 
ous that  the  hulking  fellow  leaped  back  a  good  yard, 
crying  out  to  Montague : 

*  Will  your  honour  let  a  poor  man  be  killed  in  his 
duty  ?  ' 

The  Colonel  made  no  answer  to  the  pathetic 
question.  He  was  occupied  with  business  of  another 
complexion.      Mr.  Kelly  heard  a  crack. 

'  What  is  the  matter.-'  '  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

'  The   key   is   filled    with    dust,    or   the   lock  is 


342  PARSON    KELLY 

jammed,'  Montague  whispered  back.     '  I  have  broken 
open  the  box  with  the  guard  of  my  sword. ' 

'Be  quick,'  said  Kelly.  'Make  sure  you  have 
Smilinda's   letters.' 

All  this  while  he  had  not  looked  towards  the 
scrutoire.  The  most  that  he  saw  was  the  shadow 
of  the  Colonel  thrown  on  the  wall  of  the  room  by 
the  single  candle,  a  shadow  monstrous  big  that  held 
the  shadow  of  a  paper  to  its  eyes.  It  is  to  be  said 
in  Mr.  Kelly's  defence  that  he  dared  not  look  about 
him.  The  door  of  the  room  was  half  open;  the 
Messenger  who  had  retreated  into  the  passage  was 
plainly  hardening  his  heart  for  a  rush.  Mr. 
Kelly's  attention  was  entirely  distracted  from 
Colonel  Montague's  proceedings  at  this  important 
moment. 

'Yes,'  whispered  Montague.  'This  is  her  hand, 
this  is  the  blue-edged  paper  she  affects  of  late. 
"My  own  Strephon,"  and  dated  two  days  back.  It 
bids  you  to  her  rout. ' 

The  words  passed  in  and  out  of  Mr.  Kelly's  ears. 
His  eyes  were  occupied  with  Hutchins,  and  with  his 
eyes  his  mind.  He  did  not  remember  that  he  had 
thrust  this  letter  of  her  ladyship's,  as  he  had  told 
to  Wogan,  into  the  wrong  box,  the  box  holding  the 
papers  of  the  Bishop  and  the  King.  Then  a  little 
flame  shot  up  and  illumined  the  room,  which  was  at 
once  filled  with  a  smell  of  burning  paper.  Montague 
had  burned  Smilinda's  letter,  inviting  Kelly  to  her 
rout. 

It  seemed  that  Hutchins  had  after  all  no  stomach 
for  Mr.  Kelly's  sword,  which  to  be  sure  must  have 
glittered  ominously  in  the  dismal  light  of  the  soli- 


PARSON    KELLY  343 

tary  candle.      He  ran  back  again  down  the  passage 
and  pulled  open  the  street  door. 

'Chandler,'  he  shouted,  calling  his  fellow  to 
assist  him.  A  yell  of  laughter  answered  him,  and  a 
voice  from  the  street  cried  out  that  Chandler  was 
gone  for  a  file  of  soldiers.  Kelly  could  hear 
Hutchins  swearing  and  cursing,  though  it  was  him- 
self that  had  sent  Chandler  on  the  errand, 

A  second  flame  spirted  up  and  died  away.  Mon- 
tague had  burned  a  second  letter. 

'  Lyng!  Randall!  '  cried  Hutchins  at  the  street- 
door,  but  again  he  was  answered  with  jeers,  and 
again  the  voice  called  to  him  mockingly  that  they 
were  gone  to  Bury  Street,  where  they  were  told  they 
would  be  sure  to  snare  the  right  man. 

Montague,  who  heard  everything  clearly,  blessed 
Mrs.  Kilburne  aloud,  and  burned  a  third  paper.  Kelly 
kicked  the  door  to. 

*  We  are  safe,  then,  it  seems,'  he  said.  '  Smi- 
linda  's  safe.' 

He  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  the  sweat 
from  his  face,  leaning  his  back  against  the  panels  of 
the  door.  He  could  hear  Hutchins  bawling  up  the 
street  for  his  partners,  and  his  voice  sounded  as 
though  he  had  moved  from  the  door  in  search  of 
them.  So  for  the  first  time  Kelly  looked  at  Mon- 
tague and  the   scrutoire. 

Colonel  Montague  had  turned  the  strong-box  up- 
side down  and  emptied  the  papers  on  the  scrutoire, 
so  that  they  lay  face  downwards.  By  a  scruple  of 
delicacy,  having  read  the  topmost  letter  to  make 
sure  it  was  Lady  Oxford's  hand,  he  looked  at  them 
no  more.      He  took  them  up  one  by  one,  face  down^ 


344  PARSON    KELLY 

wards,  and  so  burned  them  separately,  knowing  no 
doubt  that,  lighted  in  a  single  heap,  only  those  on 
the  outside  and  the  edges  of  the  letters  in  the 
middle,  would  catch  fire.  One  by  one  he  burnt 
them  face  downwards  at  the  candle,  the  secret  letters 
of  the  Cause.  He  had  burned  three,  and  he  now 
held  the  fourth  in  his  hand.  He  approached  it  to 
the  candle;  he  did  not  so  much  as  look  at  it.  But 
had  he  merely  glanced  once  at  Mr.  Kelly  leaning 
there  against  the  panels  of  the  door,  that  glance 
would  have  surely  told  him  what  papers  he  was 
burning. 

Kelly  did  not  speak  a  word,  or  stir  a  muscle. 
He  had  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  face  a  second 
ago,  but  his  forehead  was  wet  now:  his  eyes  stared 
greedily  at  the  papers:  a  slow  smile,  of  a  knavish 
kind,  that  went  very  ill  with  his  face,  curved  his 
lips.  An  extreme  temptation  chained  him;  the 
Devil  whispered  in  his  ear,  'Be  silent,'  and  the 
Parson  held  his  peace. 

The  blue-edged  letter  bidding  him  to  the  rout  he 
had  slipped  on  the  top  of  the  Chevalier's  papers,  as 
he  had  told  Mr.  Wogan.  Colonel  Montague  was 
merrily  burning  the  papers  of  the  Plot.  Kelly  had 
but  to  hold  his  tongue,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was 
safe.  The  Cause  was  saved  so  far  as  the  papers 
went,  and  Lady  Oxford,  her  letters  unburned,  was 
lost.  No  wonder  the  key  did  not  fit;  it  was  the 
wrong  key!  Kelly  could  see  the  corner  of  Wogan's 
strong-box  peeping  out  from  beneath  a  thatch  of 
papers  in  the  corner  of  the  scrutoire. 

All  this  the  Parson  saw  and  understood  in  the  one 
short  moment  during  which  Montague    approached 


PARSON    KELLY  345 

the  paper  to  the  candle.  His  mind  was  tossed  up 
and  down  in  a  tempest;  the  winds  of  temptation 
blew  hard  against  the  tides  of  his  nature.  On  one 
side  was  safety  and  the  King's  interest,  and  Rose, 
who  to  be  sure  need  never  know  of  the  treachery  by 
which  the  Parson  had  won  her;  on  the  other,  a  broken 
pledge  that  he  had  given  to  the  Colonel,  and  the  ruin 
of  Smilinda,  who  had  betrayed  him. 

Montague  lit  the  sheet  of  paper  and  held  it  up. 
Kelly  saw  the  blue  flame  creep  down  from  the  edge, 
the  writing  turn  brown,  the  paper  curl  over  black 
and  tattered,  with  a  multitude  of  red  sparks;  and 
still  he  kept  his  peace. 

Montague  dropped  the  ashes  on  the  scrutoire,  and 
took  a  fifth  paper  from  the  pile.  The  Parson  turned 
away,  and  laid  his  ear  to  the  panel,  making  a  pre- 
tence that  he  heard  Hutchins  stirring  in  the  passage. 

'Be  quick!'  he  said  first,  and  then,  moistening 
his  dry  lips  with  his  tongue:  *  Make  quite  sure  you 
have  Smilinda's  letters.' 

*  Smilinda.'' '  asked  Montague. 
Kelly  forced  a  laugh. 

*  No  doubt  she  called  herself  something  equally 
pretty  to  you. ' 

'  Phylissa, '  growled  Montague. 

*  She  has  a  pretty  conceit  in  names.  Make  sure 
those  are  her  letters,'  and  again  he  spoke  with  an 
effort. 

'  Not  I.  I  have  had  my  fill  of  the  lady's  hand- 
writing.' 

Montague  was  already  holding  the  paper  to  the 
flame,  when  Kelly's  good  angel  got  the  upper  hand 
with  him.      He  is  happy  now  to  think  that  no  chance 


346  PARSON    KELLY 

accident,  such  as  the  return  of  Hutchins  or  the 
coming  of  the  soldiers,  hurried  him  into  the  better 
choice  with  a  mind  half  made  up.  Here  was  the 
very  occasion  of  which  he  had  dreamed  when  he 
stayed  behind  in  Lady  Oxford's  withdrawing  room. 
He  could  use  the  weapon  which  her  letters  put  into 
his  hand  to  save  the  Chevalier's  papers  and  himself 
and  Rose.  But  he  put  the  weapon  aside.  He 
turned  about  from  the  door:  Montague  was  holding 
the  paper  to  the  flame,  and  a  corner  of  it  had  taken 
fire.  Kelly  sprang  to  the  scrutoire,  snatched  the 
paper  out  of  Montague's  hand,  and  crushed  the  fire 
out  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

'  I  gave  you  the  right  key,'  he  whispered.  '  You 
chose  the  wrong  box. ' 

Montague  snatched  up  the  pile  of  papers  and 
turned  them  over. 

'  Good  God  !  Cyphers  ! '  he  exclaimed,  and  dropped 
them  as  though  they  were,  in  truth,  burning. 

'  The  other  box;  the  other  box,'  said  Kelly,  point- 
ing to  it.  He  fancied  that  he  heard  Hutchins  mov- 
ing cautiously  just  outside  the  door,  and  was  now  in 
a  fever  lest  the  delay  brought  about  by  his  incerti- 
tude might  balk  his  intentions.  At  any  moment  the 
Messenger  might  come  back  from  Bury  Street,  or  the 
file  of  the  musquets  march  tramping  up  the  stairs. 

All  this  indeed  takes  a  long  time  to  tell,  and 
seemed  no  less  long  to  Mr.  Kelly  in  the  happening; 
but  the  whole  of  the  occurrences,  the  movements  of 
the  Messengers,  the  tidings  cried  to  him  from  the 
street,  the  burning  of  the  papers,  with  Kelly's  own 
thoughts  and  doubts  and  unlooked-for  temptations, 
passed  with  momentary  speed. 


PARSON    KELLY  347 

Montague  found  Wogan's  strong  box,  the  box  of 
the  love-letters,  unlocked  it,  tore  out  all  the  con- 
tents, and  glanced  at  a  few  at  the  top,  middle  and 
bottom. 

'  Smilinda — Smilinda — Smilinda, '  he  said,  read- 
ing the  signatures.  *  And  it 's  for  this  woman,'  he 
cried,  striking  the  letters  with  his  fist,  '  Smilinda, 
Phylissa,  and  the  Lord  knows  what  else  to  the 
Lord  knows  what  other  men,  that ' 

But  the  Parson  was  in  no  mood  to  listen  to  Mon- 
tague's reflections. 

*  Put  the  other  papers  back  into  that  box,  the  box 
with  the  unbroken  lock,  lock  it  and  give  me  the  key,' 
he  said.  Montague  crammed  her  ladyship's  letters 
into  the  inner  pocket  of  his  coat.  But  before  he 
could  move  the  door  opened  with  a  crash,  and 
Hutchins  flew  in,  Kelly  made  a  furious  pass,  and 
Hutchins,  leaping  back,  '  parried  the  thrust  with  the 
door,'  as  he  truly  said  in  his  evidence  before  the 
Lords'  Committee.  Had  he  not  used  that  novel 
parade  Kelly  would  infallibly  have  run  him  through, 
and,  as  it  was,  George  could  scarcely  drag  his  point 
out  of  the  wood  of  the  door,  which  Hutchins  in  leap- 
ing back  had  shut.  Being  now  sufficiently  terrified, 
for  indeed  no  man  ever  had  a  narrower  escape  of 
his  life,  Hutchins  contented  himself  with  a  plaintive 
expostulation  from  the  safety  of  the  passage. 

'  Sure,  I  would  serve  Lord  Townshend  himself  in 
the  same  way, '  Kelly  shouted  back,  '  if  he  tried  to 
enter  my  room  against  my  will  without  a  warrant,' 
and  lowering  his  voice  so  that  only  Montague  might 
hear,  '  Lock  the  box,  and  throw  me  the  key. '  If 
only   for   Montague's  sake   the   papers  of   the   Plot 


348  PARSON    KELLY 

must  not  be  found  lying  open  upon  Kelly's  scrutoire, 
and  the  box  which  held  them  broken  among  a  litter 
of  ashes.  Mr.  Kelly  could  not  but  remember  with 
what  care,  earlier  in  the  evening,  he  had  burned  and 
buried  the  ashes  of  his  Grace  of  Rochester's  letters, 
and  reflect  with  some  sadness  what  little  good  had 
come  of  it.  Montague  locked  up  the  papers  of  the 
Plot  in  the  box  which  had  held  Smilinda's  letters, 
and  tossed  the  key  to  Kelly,  who  caught  it. 

'  There  is  no  more  to  do .'' '  said  Montague. 

'  Nothing,'  and  Kelly  handed  him  back  his  sword 
and  sat  him  down  on  a  sofa.  He  seized  the  occasion 
to  make  Montague  acquainted  with  the  accident 
through  which  Smilinda's  last  letter  had  been  laid 
on  the  top  of  those  in  the  box  that  contained  very 
different  wares,  adding  apologies  for  his  brief  delay 
to  inform  him.  The  Colonel  then  sat  down  over 
against  Kelly  and  laid  the  flat  of  Kelly's  sword 
across  his  knees.  He  looked  at  the  sword  for  a 
little.     Then, 

'  You  had  a  chance  to  let  me  destroy  your  own 
papers, '  he  said. 

'  Yes,  and  to  be  a  liar  to  a  loyal  gentleman,  and 
a  traitor  to  a  more  sacred  cause  than  even  my 
King's.' 

'  Smilinda's. -* '   Montague  looked  up  in  perplexity. 

'  No,'  said  Kelly,  and  he  stared  for  a  little  at  the 
floor,  then  he  said  very  slowly,  '  A  long  while  ago  I 
made  a  prayer  that  nothing  might  ever  come  between 
the  Cause  and  me  except  it  be  death.  Even  while 
I  made  the  prayer  I  was  summoned  to  visit  Lady 
Oxford,  who  was  then  unknown  to  me.  Well, 
something  has  come  between  the  Cause  and  me  — 


PARSON    KELLY  349 

honour.      A  more  sacred  Cause  than  even  my  King's. 
Himself  would  say  it.' 

Colonel  Montague  fancied  that  he  heard  a  distant 
regular  tramp  of  feet  like  soldiers.  But  Mr.  Kelly 
was  clean  lost  in  his  thoughts. 

'  I  could  meet  the  King  with  a  clear  face  and  this 
story  on  my  lips, '  he  continued,  *  even  though  it 
were  over  there  in  Rome,  and  in  his  old  lodging. 
The  very  approach  to  him  was  secret,  his  ante- 
chamber a  cellar  underground.  You  went  by  night, 
you  crossed  the  cellar  in  the  dark,  you  climbed  a 
little  winding  stair,  and  above,  in  a  mean  crazy 
chamber  which  overhangs  the  Tiber,  there  was  my 
King  looking  towards  England.  A  man  like  me, 
with  a  man's  longings  and  a  man's  despair,  but, 
unlike  me,  robbed  of  a  nation.  Day  by  day  delay 
shadowed  his  eyes  and  wrote  upon  his  face  until  the 
face  became  an  open  book  of  sorrows.  Yet  himself 
would  say,  "  Perish  the  Cause,  perish  all  but 
honour,"  '  and,  suddenly  throwing  up  his  arms,  Mr. 
Kelly  cried  out  in  a  voice  of  great  passion  and  long- 
ing, 'The  King!     The  King!' 

Colonel  Montague  very  likely  had  his  own  opinions 
as  to  how  the  King  would  take  it,  but  he  was  care- 
ful to  keep  them  to  himself,  and  in  the  silence 
which  followed  upon  Kelly's  outburst  the  tread  of 
soldiers  was  heard  very  distinct,  and  Hutchins's 
voice  at  the  door  bidding  them  hurry. 

Mr.  Kelly  raised  his  head.  He  too  had  heard  the 
sound,  and,  drawing  a  ring  from  his  finger, 

'  Take  my  seal  ring,  when  you  are  alone  seal  up 
the  brocades  in  a  packet.  You  know  the  person 
whom  they  concern. ' 


35 o  PARSON    KELLY 

Montague  took  the  ring  and  slipped  it  on  his 
finger. 

'Mr.  Johnson,  or  Kelly,  or  whoever  you  are,'  he 
said  cordially,  '  we  must  needs  be  public  enemies, 
but  I  wish  my  King  had  many  as  loving  servants  as 
your  King  has  in  you. ' 

The  rattle  of  the  butts  of  musquets  could  now  be 
heard  in  the  passage. 

'  And,  damme, '  said  Montague,  bending  forward 
suddenly;  he  had  all  this  while  maintained  in  word 
and  carriage  the  reserve  of  the  Englishman,  but  now 
he  showed  a  decent  warmth  of  blood,  '  had  you  been 
in  my  place  and  I  in  yours,  Smilindaorno  Smilinda, 
I  should  have  let  you  burn  the  cyphers.' 

On  those  words  he  was  pleased  to  say,  which  Mr. 
Kelly  merely  counted  a  politeness,  the  door  was 
driven  open  by  the  butts  of  several  fusils,  a  sergeant 
with  a  file  of  musqueteers  entered;  behind  them 
came  Chandler  with  the  warrant,  Lyngwith  a  broken 
head,  Hutchins  with  a  white,  scared  face,  and 
Randall  whose  coat  was  in  tatters. 

They  were  surprised  enough,  you  may  be  sure,  to 
see  the  Colonel  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace  and 
their  redoubtable  prisoner  as  quiet  upon  the  other. 

'Oh,'  said  Mr.  Kelly,  with  an  admirable  air  of 
astonishment,  '  it  seems  you  have  a  warrant  after 
all." 

Hutchins  then  read  the  warrant  through,  and  Mr. 
Kelly  surrendered.  But  the  Messenger  had  not 
done;  he  picked  up  presently  the  impudence  to 
question  the   Colonel. 

'  Your  worship  let  the  prisoner  take  his  sword? ' 

The  dignified  Montague  stared  at  Hutchins  with 


PARSON    KELLY  351 

a  strong  amazement  until  the  fellow  was  quite 
abashed. 

'What's  the  world  coming  to?'  he  said.  'Here 
is  your  prisoner's  sword,  if  he  is  your  prisoner,' 
and,  lifting  Mr.  Kelly's  sword  from  his  knees,  he 
handed  it  to  Hutchins.  Hutchins  then  made  haste 
to  secure  Mr.  Kelly's  effects.  He  went  over  to  the 
scrutoire,  and  the  first  things  he  clapped  his  eyes 
upon  were  a  pile  of  black  ashes  and  a  great  many 
splotches  of  hot  grease  from  the  candle. 

Hutchins  looked  at  the  Colonel  with  a  question 
upon  his  lips;  the  Colonel  looked  stonily  at 
Hutchins.  Hutchins  raised  his  nose  and  sniffed  the 
air. 

'  Will  your  \vors*hip  tell  me  whether  the  prisoner 
meddled  with  any  papers  .-^  '  he  asked,  but  with  less 
impertinence  than  before. 

'  Yes,  sir,  the  gentleman  did.' 

'  What  was  done  with  them  .-•  ' 

'  Sir,  they  were  burned,  as  you  may  perceive.' 

*  And  how  came  you,  sir,  to  let  them  be  burned.''  ' 

*  I  am  not  to  answer  to  you,  sir,  for  my  conduct, 
of  which  I  can  give  a  sufficient  account  to  persons 
who  have  the  right  to  question  me.  I  have,  for 
your  satisfaction,  no  knowledge  of  this  gentleman's 
name,  nor  as  to  whether  he  is  correctly  described 
in  a  warrant  which  was  not  in  the  house  while  we 
were  together.  It  appears  to  me  that  you  are  all 
very  likely  to  lose  your  scutcheons  for  your  doltish 
stupidity,  whether  you  have  hold  of  the  right  or  the 
wrong  gentleman.  I  wish  you  a  good  night,  sir,' 
he  said,  bowing  to  Kelly,  '  and  speedy  deliverance, 
if  you  deserve  it,  from  your  present  company. ' 


352 


PARSON    KELLY 


He  put  his  hat  on  his  head  and  walked  out  of  the 
room  without  another  word.  Hutchins  thereupon 
searched  Mr.  Kelly's  scrutoire ;  he  found  one  box 
broken  open  and  empty,  another  box,  its  own  fellow, 
locked.  Mr.  Kelly  delivered  the  key  to  it,  with  a 
great  show  of  reluctance.  It  held  the  papers  of  the 
Bishop's  Plot  and  a  key  to  the  Bishop's  cypher, 
which  was  used  to  convict  him  at  his  trial.  As  for 
the  burned  papers,  it  came  out  at  George's  trial  that 
he  had  destroyed  letters  in  the  presence  of  a  King's 
officer.  But  the  Duke  of  Wharton,  in  his  famous 
speech,  argued  that  a  man  of  Mr.  Kelly's  figure 
might  very  well  have  letters  to  burn  which  were  not 
political. 

That  night  the  Parson  was  taken  to  the  house  of 
John  Gardiner,  living  in  Westminster  Market,  there 
to  be  kept  in  safe  custody.  He  walked  between  the 
soldiers,   and  whistled  a  lively  tune  as  he  walked. 

This  was  related  in  more  than  one  inn-parlour  the 
next  day  by  the  sergeant,  who  was  mightily  sur- 
prised that  a  man  should  bear  so  heavy  a  charge  so 
easily,  and  so  the  story  got  about. 

But  Mr.  Kelly  was  sensibly  lightened  by  having 
saved  Smilinda  in  the  end  after  so  many  mischances, 
and  when  he  thought  of  her  letters  safe  in  the 
Colonel's  inner  pocket,  felt  a  private  glow  of  pleasure 
which  put  all  conjectures  of  his  fate  and  doom  clean 
out  of  his  head.  Moreover,  he  says  that  Rose  was 
never  nearer  to  him  than  on  that  night  and  during 
that  walk.  He  speaks  as  though  she  walked  by  his 
side  amongst  his  captors,  and  walked  with  a  face 
that   smiled. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

MR.    WOGAN    WEARS    LADY     OXFORD'S    LIVERY,   BUT 
DOES   NOT   REMAIN   IN   HER   SERVICE. 

THE  question  with  which  Mr.  Wogan  lay  down 
to  sleep  after  Lady  Oxford's  rout,  woke  him 
at  noon;  he  sent  a  boy  whom  he  could  trust  to  Ryder 
Street  to  desire  Colonel  Montague's  attendance. 
Montague  came  back  presently  with  the  boy,  and 
gave  Wogan  the  news  that  the  Parson  was  taken. 

*  There  was  no  escape  possible,'  he  said.  'I 
cannot  tell  you  the  innermost  truth  of  the  affair, 
because  the  secret  is  not  mine  to  tell;  but,  Mr. 
Wogan,  you  will  take  my  word  for  it,  your  friend 
was  in  the  net. ' 

*  The  room  was  searched  .-• ' 

*  And  his  papers  seized.  One  or  two,  I  believe, 
were  burned,  but  the  greater  part  were  seized, '  and 
then  he  broke  out  with  an  oath.  *  Damn  these  plots  ! 
What  in  the  world  made  you  meddle  with  such 
Tory  nonsense }  ' 

'Faith,'  said  Wogan,  'I  have  been  wondering 
how  ever  you  demeaned  yourself  to  become  a  Whig. ' 

Wogan  wondered  very  much  more  what  strange 
mishap  had  brought  Mr.  Kelly  to  this  pass  at  the 
moment  when  he  seemed  to  have  success  beneath 
his  hand.     Something  wholly  unexpected  must  have 

23 


354  PARSON    KELLY 

happened  during  those  few  minutes  when  he  and 
Smilinda  were  left  alone.  Something  had  happened, 
indeed,  but  it  was  something  very  much  simpler 
than  Mr.  Wogan  looked  for,  who  had  not  the  key  to 
the  Parson's  thoughts.  However,  he  forebore  to 
inquire,   and  instead: 

'Colonel,'  said  he,  '  you  professed  last  night 
that  you  were  under  some  trifling  obligation  to 
me.' 

*  I  trust  to-day  to  make  the  profession  good. ' 

'Faith,  then  you  can.  Colonel.  There's  a  little 
matter  of  a  quarrel.' 

At  this  the  Colonel  broke  in  with  a  laugh. 

'  With  whom  ? ' 

'  With  a  lad  I  have  taken  a  great  liking  for,'  and 
the  Colonel  laughed  again.  *  Therefore  I  would  not 
put  a  slight  on  him  by  missing  a  certain  appoint- 
ment.     It  is  Lord  Sidney  Beauclerk. ' 

Colonel  Montague's  face  clouded  as  he  heard  the 
name. 

'  And  the  reason  of  the  quarrel  ? ' 

'  He  took  objection  to  a  few  words  I  spoke  last 
night. ' 

'  About  a  ballad.''     I  heard  the  words.' 

'  I  told  him  that  he  would  find  a  friend  of  mine 
waiting  at  Burton's  Coffee-house  this  morning,  and 
I  doubt  if  many  friends  of  mine  will  be  seen  abroad 
to-day. ' 

Montague  rose  from  the  bed. 

'  I  will  not  deny,'  he  said,  '  that  there  are  services 
I  should  have  preferred  to  render  you.  But  I  will 
go  to  Burton's,  on  one  condition,  Mr.  Wogan  —  that 
you  do  not  stir  from  this  house  until  I  come  back 


II 


PARSON    KELLY 


355 


to  you.      There  *s  an  ill  wind  blowing  which  might 
occasion  you  discomfort  if  you  went  abroad. ' 

This  he  said  with  some  significance. 

'It  catches  at  one's  throat,  I  dare  say,'  replied 
Wogan,  taking  his  meaning.  '  I  have  a  tender  sort 
of  delicate  throat  in  some  weathers.' 

Colonel  Montague  walked  to  Burton's,  at  the 
corner  of  King  Street  in  St.  James's.  The  coffee- 
house buzzed  with  the  news  of  Mr.  Kelly's  arrest, 
and  Colonel  Montague  saw  many  curious  faces  look 
up  from  their  news-sheets  and  whisper  together  as 
he  entered.  In  a  corner  of  the  room  sat  Lord 
Sidney  Beauclerk,  with  a  man  whom  Montague  had 
remarked  at  Lady  Oxford's  rout  the  night  before. 

Lord  Sidney  arose  as  Montague  approached  and 
bowed  stififly. 

'  I  come  on  behalf  of  a  gentleman,  whom,  perhaps, 
we  need  not  name, '  said  Montague. 

'Indeed.?'  said  Lord  Sidney,  with  a  start  of 
surprise. 

'  I  can  understand  that  your  lordship  did  not 
expect  me,   but  I  am  his  friend.' 

'  To  be  frank,  I  expected  no  one. ' 

'  Your  lordship,  then,  hardly  knows  the  gentle- 
man } ' 

'  On  the  contrary,'  said  Lord  Sidney,  and  he  took 
up  from  the  table  the  Flying  Post  of  that  morning. 
He  handed  the  paper  to  Montague,  and  pointed  to  a 
sentence  which  came  at  the  end  of  a  description  of 
Mr.  Kelly's  arrest. 

'  It  is  said  that  Mr.  Nicholas  Wogan  -is  also  in 
London,  hiding  under  the  incognito  of  Hilton,  and 
that  he  will  be  taken  to-day. ' 


356  PARSON    KELLY 

'You  see,  my  lord,'  said  Montague,  'that  there 
are  certain  difficulties  which  threaten  to  interfere 
with  our  arrangements. ' 

'  My  friend  is  aware  of  them, '  said  Lord  Sidney, 
and  presented  his  friend. 

*  Before  making  any  arrangements  I  should  be 
glad  if  your  lordship  would  favour  me  with  a  hear- 
ing in  some  private  place.  It  is  I  who  ask,  not  my 
friend,  Mr.  Hilton.' 

Lord  Sidney  reluctantly  consented,  and  the  two 
men  walked  out  of  the  coffee-house. 

'  There  are  to  be  no  apologies,  I  trust,'  said  Lord 
Sidney. 

Montague  laughed. 

'  Your  lordship  need  have  no  fears.  What  I  pro- 
pose is  entirely  unknown  to  Mr,  Wogan.  But  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  conditions  of  the  duel  have 
changed.  If  Mr.  Wogan  shows  his  face  in  London 
he  will  be  taken.  If  he  fights  you,  it  matters  not 
whether  you  pink  him  or  no,  for  if  he  escapes  your 
sword  he  will  be  taken  by  the  Messengers.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  will  not  go  from  London  until  he  has 
met  you;  unless — ' 

'  Unless  —  > ' 

'Unless  your  lordship  insists  upon  deferring  the 
meeting  until  it  can  take  place  in   France.' 

'Yes,  I  will  consent  to  that,'  said  Lord  Sidney, 
after  a  moment's  pause.      '  It  is  common  fairness. ' 

'  Again  I  take  the  liberty  to  observe  that  your  lord- 
ship does  not  know  the  gentleman.     You  must  insist. ' 

Lord  Sidney  was  brought  without  great  difficulty 
to  understand  the  justice  of  Colonel  Montague's 
argument. 


PARSON    KELLY  357 

'Very  well;  I  will  insist,'  he  said;  and,  coming 
back  to  Burton's  coffee-house,  he  wrote  a  polite 
letter,   which  the  Colonel  put  in  his  pocket. 

Montague,  however,  did  not  immediately  carry  it 
to  Mr.  Wogan.  He  stood  on  the  pavement  of  King 
Street  for  a  little,  biting  his  thumb  in  a  profundity 
of  thought;  then  he  hurried  to  the  stable  where  he 
kept  his  horses,  and  gave  a  strict  order  to  his  groom. 
From  the  stable  he  set  out  for  Queen's  Square,  but 
on  the  way  he  bought  a  Flying  Post,  and  stopped  in 
St.  James's  Park  to  see  what  sort  of  account  it  gave 
of  Mr.  Kelly's  arrest. 

'  The  Plot  concerning  which  they  write  from 
Paris,'  it  began,  '  hath  brought  the  Guards  into  the 
Park,  and  a  reverend  and  gallant  non-juror  within 
danger  of  the  Law.  The  Messengers  that  were 
essaying  to  take  Mr.  Kelly  needed  reinforcement  by 
a  file  of  musquets  before  his  reverence's  lodgings 
could  be  stormed.  It  is  said  that  a  loyal  Colonel 
of  the  Guards  who  lodges  in  the  same  house  in 
Ryder  Street  was  discovered  with  Mr.  Kelly  when 
the  soldiers  forced  their  way  in,  and  that  by  his 
interference  many  valuable  papers  have  been  saved, 
which  would  otherwise  have  been  destroyed.  It 
appears  that  Kelly  was  intent  upon  burning  certain 
cyphers  and  letters,  and  had,  indeed,  burnt  two  or 
three  of  them  before  the  loyal  Colonel  interrupted 
him.' 

The  loyal  Colonel  took  off  his  hat  to  Grub  Street 
for  this  charitable  interpretation  of  his  conduct. 
Lady  Oxford,  he  reflected,  must  be  in  a  fine  flutter, 
for  assuredly  she  would  have  sent  for  the  news- 
sheet  the  first  thing. 


358  PARSON    KELLY 

Montague  tapped  the  pocket  in  which  were  her 
ladyship's  letters,  and  smiled.  Her  anxieties  would 
be  very  suitable  to  a  certain  plan  of  his  own. 

He  walked  straight  to  Queen's  Square  and  knocked 
at  the  door.  It  seemed  to  him  purely  providential 
that  the  man  who  opened  the  door  was  the  big 
lackey  whom  he  had  seen  in  Ryder  Street  the  night 
before.  Montague  looked  him  over  again  and  said, 
'  I  think  that  I  saw  you  last  night  in  Ryder  Street.' 

He  had  some  further  conversation  with  the  lackey, 
and  money  passed  between  them.  But  the  conver- 
sation was  of  the  shortest,  for  her  ladyship,  in  a 
fever  of  impatience,  and  bearing  every  mark  of  a 
sleepless  night,  ran  down  the  stairs  almost  before 
Colonel  Montague  had  finished.  She  gave  her  hand 
to  him  with  a  pretty  negligence,  and  the  Colonel 
bent  a  wooden  face  over  it,  but  did  not  touch  the 
fingers  with  his  lips.  Then  she  led  the  way  into 
the  little  parlour,  and  her  negligence  vanished  in  a 
second.  She  was  all  on  fire  to  know  whether  her 
letters  had  been  seized  or  no;  yet  even  at  that 
moment  it  was  not  in  her  nature  to  put  a  frank  ques- 
tion when  a  devious  piece  of  cajolery  might  serve. 

'Corydon!'  she  said  in  a  whisper  of  longing,  as 
though  Montague  was  the  one  man  her  heart  was  set 
upon,  as  though  she  had  never  brought  Mr.  Kelly 
into  this  very  room  on  a  morning  of  summer  two 
years  ago.      '  My  Corydon  ! '   she  said,  and  sighed. 

'  Madam,'  said  Montague,  in  a  most  sudden  enthu- 
siasm, '  I  think  there  is  no  poetry  in  the  world  like 
a  nursery  rhyme.' 

Her  ladyship  could  make  nothing  of  the  remark. 

'  A  nursery  rhyme  .^ '   she  repeated. 


PARSON   KELLY  359 

'  A  nursery  rhyme, '  repeated  the  Colonel.  '  "  Will 
you  walk  into  my  parlour,  said  the  spider  to  the 
fly. "  ' 

Lady  Oxford  looked  at  him  quite  gravely. 

'  I  do  not  in  the  least  understand, '  she  said.  She 
had  a  wonderful  knack  of  burying  her  head  in  the 
sand  and  believing  that  no  one  spied  her,  as  travel- 
lers tell  of  the  ostrich.  '  But  you  have  a  message 
for  me,   have  you  not?' 

She  put  the  question  frankly  now,  since  coquetry 
had  failed. 

'I  have  a  packet  to  deliver  to  your  ladyship,' 
replied  Montague. 

Lady  Oxford  drew  a  breath  and  dropped  into  a 
cjiair.  '  Thank  you  !  How  shall  I  thank  you  .-'  '  she 
cried ;  and  seeing  that  Montague  made  no  answer 
whatever,  but  stood  stiff  as  a  ramrod,  she  became  at 
once  all  weak  woman.  '  You  are  very  good  to  me,' 
she  murmured  in  a  very  pathetical  voice. 

'Your  ladyship  owes  me  no  thanks,'  replied 
Montague.  '  Your  ladyship  has  need  of  all  your 
gratitude  for  a  gentleman  who  gave  up  all  that  he 
held  dear  to  save  your  good  name. ' 

He  had  it  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  add,  '  which 
was  not  worth  saving,'  and  barely  refrained  from 
the  words. 

Lady  Oxford  was  not  abashed  by  the  rebuke.  She 
turned  upon  the  Colonel  eyes  that  swam  with  pity 
for  Mr.   Kelly's  misfortunes. 

'I  read  that  he  was  taken,'  she  said  sadly. 
'  Poor  gentleman !  But  he  should  have  burnt  my 
letters  long  ago.  They  were  letters  written,  as  we 
women  write,  with  a  careless  pen  and  ill-considered 


360  iPARSON    KELLY 

words  which  malice  might  misconstrue.  He  should 
have  burnt  them,  as  he  swore  to  do;  but  he  broke 
his  word,  and  so,  alas !  pays  most  dearly  for  his 
fault.  Indeed,  it  grieves  me  to  the  heart,  and  all 
the  more  because  he  brought  his  own  sufferings 
about.  So  unreasonable  we  poor  women  are,'  and 
she  shook  her  head,  and  smiled  with  a  sort  of  pity 
for  women's  frail  readiness  to  forgive. 

'  Madam, '  said  Montague,  growing  yet  colder,  '  it 
is  not  for  me  either  to  construe  or  to  misconstrue 
the  packet  which  I  am  to  give  you,  nor  am  I  at  all 
concerned  to  defend  a  gentleman  whom  I  am  proud 
to  name  my  friend. ' 

The  indifference  of  the  speech  no  doubt  stung  her 
ladyship. 

'  Friend ! '  she  said  with  a  sneer.  '  This  friend- 
ship is  surely  something  of  the  suddenest.  I  did 
not  even  so  late  as  last  night  notice  any  great  cor- 
diality between  you. ' 

'Very  likely  not,'  said  Montague.  'Last  night 
there  was  a  trivial  cause  for  disagreement  upon 
which  to-day  we  are  of  one  mind.' 

Lady  Oxford  flushed  and  took  another  tone. 

'  You  are  cruel, '  she  said.  She  was  not  so  much 
insulted  as  hurt.  '  You  are  ungenerous.  You  are 
cruel.' 

But  Colonel  Montague  was  not  in  a  melting  mood, 
and  so,  '  Give  me  the  packet,'  she  said  sullenly. 

Montague  pressed  his  hand  over  his  pocket  and 
smiled. 

Lady  Oxford  rose  from  her  chair  with  a  startled 
face. 

'  You  mean  to  keep  it  ?     To  use  it  ? ' 


PARSON    KELLY  361 

*  Not  to  your  ladyship's  hurt. ' 

Lady  Oxford  looked  at  him  with  eyes  mournful  in 
their  reproach. 

*  Mr.  Kelly  bade  you  give  these  letters  back  to 
me  at  once, '  she  said ;  and  then,  with  a  great  fervour 
of  admiration,  '  Mr.  Kelly  would  have  given  them 
back  to  me  at  once. '  It  seemed  as  though  the 
thought  of  the  noble  Mr.  Kelly  was  the  one  thing 
which  now  enabled  her  to  keep  her  faith  in 
men. 

'Very  likely,'  replied  Montague  coolly,  who  was 
not  at  all  moved  by  the  disparaging  comparison  of 
himself  with  the  Parson.  '  Mr.  Kelly  would  have 
given  them  back  to  you  at  once  had  not  your  lady- 
ship taken  good  care  that  a  few  locks  and  bars  should 
hinder  him.  But  I  am  not  Mr.  Kelly,  and  indeed 
it  is  well  for  your  ladyship  I  am  not.  Had  your 
ladyship  betrayed  me,  why,  when  that  pretty  news- 
sheet  was  read  out  last  night,  I  would  have  stood  up 
before  the  whole  company,  and  told  boldly  out  how 
your  ladyship  came  by  the  knowledge  which  gave 
you  the  power  to  betray  me.' 

The  words  and  the  stern  voice  in  which  they  were 
spoken  stung  Lady  Oxford  into  a  passion.  She  for- 
got to  deny  that  she  had  betrayed  Mr.  Kelly. 

'  It  would  have  been  an  infamy ! '   she  cried. 

'  A  harsh  critic  might  say  that  it  would  have 
matched  an  infamy. ' 

Her  ladyship  saw  her  mistake. 

*  There  was  nothing  which  Mr.  Kelly  could  have 
said.  Mr.  Kelly  was  my  friend,  as  I  have  told  you 
frankly;  but  I  did  not  betray  him.' 

'  Your  ladyship's  livery  is  blue  and  silver,  I  think 


362  PARSON    KELLY 

—  a  pretty  notable  livery  even  at  night,  as  I  had 
occasion  to  remark  in  Ryder  Street.' 

Lady  Oxford  was  put  out  of  countenance. 

'  What  am  I  to  do  to  earn  the  packet  which  is 
mine.^'  she  asked  bitterly. 

'  The  simplest  thing  imaginable.  Your  ladyship, 
I  fear  me,  has  not  slept  well.  What  say  you  to  a 
little  country  air,  with  your  humble  servant  for  a 
companion .-'  If  your  ladyship  would  order  your 
carriage  to  be  at  your  door  in  an  hour's  time  we 
might  take  the  air  for  a  while  together.  On  our 
return  your  ladyship  will  be  refreshed  for  this  even- 
ing's diversions,  and  I  shall  be  the  lighter  by  a 
packet  of  letters. ' 

Lady  Oxford  did  not  know  what  to  make  of 
the  Colonel's  proposal,  but  she  perforce  consented 
to  it. 

'  I  obey  your  orders,'  said  she  bitterly;  and  Mon- 
tague went  back  to  Wogan,  whom  he  found  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  disconsolately  swinging 
his  legs. 

*  I  have  a  letter  for  you  from  Lord  Sidney  Beau- 
clerk,  '  said  Montague. 

It  was  a  very  polite  letter,  and  assured  Mr.  Wogan 
that  he  would  on  no  account  fight  with  him  in  Eng- 
land;  but  would  cut  his  throat  somewhere  in  France 
with  the  greatest  friendliness  possible. 

'Very  well,'  said  Wogan,  'but  I  have  to  reach 
France  first. ' 

'  You  will  start  in  an  hour's  time,'  said  Montague. 

'In  broad  daylight .'' '  asked  Wogan.  '  And  what 
of  the  ill  wind  and  the  sore  throat  that's  like  to 
come  of  it  ? ' 


I 


PARSON    KELLY  363 

*  I  have  got  a  fine  coat  to  protect  the  throat. ' 
Montague  went  outside  and  cried  down  the  stairs 

to  know  whether  a  parcel  had  been  brought  into  the 
house.  The  parcel  was  carried  upstairs  into  Mr. 
Wogan's  room.  The  Colonel  unwrapped  it,  and 
spread  out  on  the  bed  a  blue  and  silver  livery. 

'  A  most  distasteful  garb,'  said  Wogan. 

'  It  is  indeed  not  what  we  would  choose  for  the 
descendant  of  kings, '  murmured  Montague  gently  as 
he  smoothed  out  the  coat. 

'Viceroys,  Colonel,  viceroys.' 

'  Viceroys,  then,  Mr.  Wogan ;  but  no  doubt  they 
murdered,  and  robbed,  and  burned,  and  ravished, 
just  like  kings.  Besides,  you  have  an  example. 
For  I  seem  to  have  heard  of  another  Wogan,  who 
went  to  Innspruck  as  a  shopkeeper.' 

'To  be  sure,'  cried  Nick.  'That  is  the  finest 
story  in  the  world.     It  was  my  brother  Charles  —  ' 

'  You  shall  tell  me  that  story  another  time,'  said 
Montague,  and  Wogan  stripped  off  his  clothes. 

'  Will  you  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do  when  I  am 
dressed } ' 

*  You  will  go  to  a  certain  house.' 

'Yes,'  said  Wogan,  and  pulled  on  the  lackey's 
breeches. 

'  At  the  house  you  will  find  a  carriage. ' 

'  I  shall  find  a  carriage. '  Wogan  drew  on  a 
stocking. 

'  You  will  mount  behind  as  though  you  were  a 
footman  from  the  house. ' 

'  A  footman  from  the  house, '  repeated  Wogan, 
and  he  pulled  on  the  other  stocking. 

'  I  shall  get  into  the  carriage  with  a  companion. 


364  PARSON    KELLY 

You  won't  know  me.  The  carriage  will  drive  off. 
You  won't  speak  a  word  for  fear  your  brogue  should 
betray  you. ' 

'  I  will  whisper  my  opinions  to  you  in  English, 
Colonel,'  said  Wogan  as  he  fastened  his  garters. 

'I  don't  think  you  could,'  said  Montague,  'and 
certainly  you  will  not  try.  We  shall  drive  to  the 
almshouses  at  Dulwich.  When  we  get  there,  I  will 
make  an  excuse  to  stop  the  carriage. ' 

*  You  won't  be  alone,  then.-* ' 

*  No.  Let  me  see.  It  is  a  fine  sunny  day.  I 
will  say  that  my  watch  is  stopped,  and  I  will  send 
you  to  see  the  time  by  the  sundial  in  the  court. ' 

Wogan  buttoned  his  waistcoat. 

'  I  will  bring  you  the  exact  minute. ' 

'  No  you  won't.  You  will  cross  the  court  to  the 
chapel,  by  the  chapel  you  will  find  a  path,  and  the 
path  will  lead  you  out  through  an  arch  into  another 
road,  bordered  with  chestnut  trees.' 

'  And  when  I  am  in  the  road.? '  Wogan  tied  his 
cravat. 

'  You  will  find  my  groom  with  a  horse.  The 
horse  will  be  saddled.  There  will  be  pistols  in 
the  holsters,  and  then  your  patron  saint  or  the  devil 
must  help  you  to  get  out  of  the  country. ' 

'  I  have  a  friend  or  two  on  the  coast  of  Sussex 
who  will  do  as  well,'  said  Wogan,  and  he  drew  the 
coat  over  his  shoulders,  '  and  I  am  very  grateful  to 
you.  But  sure.  Colonel,  what  if  a  constable  pulls 
me  off  the  carriage  by  the  leg  before  we  are  out  of 
London.!'     You  will  be  dipped  yourselL  ' 

'  There  's  no  fear  of  that  if  you  hold  your  tongue. ' 

Wogan  took  up  his  hat. 


PARSON    KELLY  365 

*  And  who  is  to  be  your  companion  ? ' 
Montague  hesitated. 

*  My  companion  will  be  a  lady.' 

'  Oh!  And  where  's  the  house  with  the  carriage 
waiting  at  the  door.''  ' 

*  In  Queen's  Square,  Westminster. 
Wogan  looked  at  his  clothes. 

'I  am  wearing  her  damned  livery,'  he  cried. 
'  No,  I  will  stay  and  be  hanged  like  a  gentleman, 
but  I  take  no  favours  at  Lady  Oxford's  hand,'  and 
in  a  passion  he  began  to  tear  off  the  clothes. 

'  She  offers  none,'  said  Montague.  '  She  knows 
nothing  of  what  I  intend.  I  would  not  trust  her. 
If  you  have  to  stand  behind,  I  have  to  drive  by  her 
side;  and  upon  my  word  I  would  sooner  be  in  your 
place.  Her  ladyship's  footman  for  an  hour!  Man, 
are  you  so  proud  that  your  life  cannot  make  up  for 
the  humiliation.?  Why,  I  have  been  her  lapdog  for 
a  year. ' 

Wogan  stopped,  with  one  arm  out  of  the  sleeve  of 
his  coat.  The  notion  that  her  ladyship  was  not 
helping  him,  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  he  was 
tricking  her,  gave  the  business  a  quite  different 
complexion. 

'  D  'ye  see.''  The  one  place  in  London  where  the 
King's  Messengers  will  not  look  to  find  you  is 
the  footboard  of  Lady  Oxford's  carriage,'  urged 
Montague. 

There  was  reason  in  the  argument :  it  was  the 
same  argument  which  Mr.  Wogan  had  used  to  per- 
suade Mr.  Kelly  to  go  to  Queen's  Square  the  even- 
ing before,  and  now  he  suffered  it  to  persuade 
himself. 


366  PARSON    KELLY 

Wogan  drew  on  the  coat  again,  pulled  his  peruke 
about  his  face,  and  drew  his  hat  forward  on  his 
forehead. 

*  Now  follow  me.  It  is  a  fortunate  thing  we  are 
close  to  her  ladyship's  house.' 

Montague  walked  quickly  to  Queen's  Square. 
Wogan  followed  ten  yards  behind.  As  they  turned 
into  the  square  they  saw  Lady  Oxford's  carriage 
waiting  at  the  door. 

'Does  the  coachman  know.-*'  asked  Wogan, 
lounging  up  to  the  Colonel  and  touching  his  hat 
with  his  forefinger. 

*  The  lackey  whose  place  you  took  has  primed  him. ' 
At  the  door  Mr.  Wogan  climbed  up  to  the  foot- 
board while  Montague  entered  the  house.  In  a 
minute  Lady  Oxford  came  out,  and  was  handed  into 
the  carriage  by  the  Colonel.  She  did  not  look  at 
her  new  lackey,  but  gave  an  order  to  the  coachman 
and  the  carriage  drove  off.  Mr.  Wogan  began  to 
discover  a  certain  humour  in  the  manner  of  his 
escape  which  tickled  him  mightily.  He  noticed 
more  than  one  of  his  acquaintances  who  would  have 
been  ready  to  lay  him  by  the  heels,  and  once  Lady 
Oxford  made  a  little  jump  in  her  seat  and  would 
have  stopped  the  coachman  had  not  Colonel  Mon- 
tague prevented  her.  For  Lord  Sidney  Beauclerk 
stood  on  the  path  gazing  at  her  ladyship  and  the 
Colonel  with  a  perplexed  and  glowing  countenance. 
Mr.  Wogan  winked  and  shook  a  friendly  foot  at  him 
from  the  back  of  the  carriage,  and  his  lordship  was 
fairly  staggered  at  the  impertinence  of  her  lady- 
ship's footman.  So  they  drove  out  past  the  houses 
and  between  the  fields. 


PARSON    KELLY  367 

Colonel  Montague  was  plainly  in  a  great  concern 
lest  Lady  Oxford  should  turn  round  and  discover 
who  rode  behind  her.  He  talked  with  volubility 
about  the  beauty  of  spring  and  the  blue  skies  and 
the  green  fields,  and  uttered  a  number  of  irreproach- 
able sentiments  about  them.  Lady  Oxford,  how- 
ever, it  seemed,  had  lost  her  devotion  to  a  country 
life,  and  was  wholly  occupied  with  the  Colonel's 
indifference  to  herself.  Her  vanity  put  her  to  a 
great  many  shifts,  which  kept  her  restless  and  Mr. 
Wogan  in  a  pucker  lest  she  should  turn  round. 
Now  it  was  her  cloak  that,  with  an  ingenious  jerk, 
she  slipped  off  her  shoulders,  and  the  Colonel  must 
hoist  it  on  again ;  now  it  was  her  glove  that  was  too 
small,  and  the  Colonel  must  deny  the  imputation 
and  admire  her  Liliputian  hand,  which  he  failed  to 
do ;  now  his  advice  was  asked  upon  the  proper  shape 
of  a  patch  at  the  corner  of  the  mouth,  and  a  win- 
some, smiling  face  was  bent  to  him  that  he  might 
judge  without  any  prejudice.  The  Colonel,  how- 
ever, remained  cold,  and  Wogan  was  sorely  per- 
suaded to  lean  over  and  whisper  in  his  ear: 

'  Flatter  her,  soften  your  face  and  adore  her,  and 
she  will  be  quiet  as  a  cat  purring  in  front  of  a  fire. ' 

For  it  was  solely  his  indifference  that  pricked 
her.  Had  he  pretended  a  little  affection,  she  would 
have  whistled  him  off  without  any  regret,  but  she 
could  not  endure  that  he  should  discard  her  of  his 
own  free  will.  This,  however,  Colonel  Montague 
did  not  know;  he  had  not  Mr.  Wogan's  experience 
of  the  sex,  and  so  Lady  Oxford  restlessly  practised 
her  charms  upon  him  until  they  came  to  the  gates 
of  the  almshouses  at  Dulwich. 


368  PARSON    KELLY 

Then  Colonel  Montague  cried  to  the  coachman  to 
halt. 

'Or  would  your  ladyship  go  further?'  he  asked, 
and  pulled  his  watch  out  of  his  fob  to  see  the  time. 
But  his  watch  had  unaccountably  stopped.  '  Nay, 
there's  a  sundial  in  the  court  there,'  he  said,  and 
over  his  shoulder  bade  the  lackey  go  and  look  at  it. 
The  lackey  climbed  down  from  the  footboard.  At 
the  same  moment  Colonel  Montague  bade  the  coach- 
man turn,  and  since  the  lackey  kept  at  the  back  of 
the  carriage  as  it  turned,  Lady  Oxford  did  not  catch 
a  glimpse  of  him.  The  lackey  walked  through  the 
gates,  crossed  the  grass  to  the  chapel  without  troub- 
ling his  head  about  the  sundial,  ran  down  the  pas- 
sage and  under  the  archway  into  a  quiet  road  shaded 
with  chestnut  trees  and  laburnums.  Colonel  Mon- 
tague's groom  was  walking  a  horse  up  and  down  the 
road.  Wogan  mounted  the  horse,  thrust  his  feet 
into  the  stirrups,  and  took  the  air  into  his  chest 
with   incomparable  contentment. 

The  afternoon  sunlight  shone  through  the  avenue 
and  glistened  on  the  laburnum  flowers.  But  there 
is  another  sort  of  yellow  flower  that  blooms  from 
the  mouth  of  a  pistol  barrel  with  which  Mr.  Wogan 
was  at  that  moment  more  concerned,  and  he  un- 
strapped the  holsters  and  looked  to  the  priming  to 
see  whether  the  buds  were  ready  to  burst.  Then  he 
drove  his  heels  into  his  horse's  flanks  and  so  rode 
down  between  the  chestnut  trees.  '  Your  ladyship, 
we  need  wait  no  longer,'  said  Montague  to  Lady 
Oxford.  '  Your  footman  will  not  come  back,  and  I 
have  the  honour  to  return  you  your  packet  of  letters. ' 

With  that  he  drew  the  letters  from  his  pocket, 


PARSON    KELLY  369 

sealed  up  in  a  parcel  with  Mr.  Kelly's  ring.  Lady- 
Oxford  clutched  them  tight  to  her  bosom,  and  lay 
back  in  the  carriage,  her  eyes  closed.  The  coach- 
man drove  back  to  London. 

They  had  gone  almost  half  the  way  before  Lady 
Oxford  recovered  sufficiently  from  her  joy  to  have  a 
thought  for  anything  but  the  letters.  Then  she 
looked  at  Montague,   and  her  eyes  widened. 

'  The  footman ! '  she  said.  'Ah  !  I  have  saved  Mr. 
Kelly  after  all.     I  have  saved  him  ! ' 

The  Colonel  might  have  pointed  out  that  what- 
ever saving  had  been  done.  Lady  Oxford  had  taken 
but  an  involuntary  hand  in  it.  But  he  merely 
shrugged  his  shoulders ;  he  imagined  her  anxiety  on 
Mr.  Kelly's  account  to  be  all  counterfeit,  although, 
may  be,  she  was  sincere. 

'Mr.  Kelly,'  he  said,  'is  most  likely  in  the 
Tower.     Your  footman  was  Mr.  Nicholas  Wogan. ' 

Lady  Oxford  was  silent  for  some  little  time. 
Then  in  a  low,   broken  voice  she  said : 

'  There  was  no  need  you  should  have  so  distrusted 
me.' 

Montague  glanced  at  her  curiously.  Her  face  had 
a  new  look  to  him.  It  was  thoughtful,  but  with  a 
certain  simplicity  in  the  thoughtfulness ;  compunc- 
tion saddened  it,  and  it  seemed  there  was  no  artifice 
in  the  compunction. 

'  Madam, '  he  answered  gently,  '  if  I  had  told  you, 
and  the  manner  of  Mr.  Wogan' s  escape  became 
known,  you  might  fall  under  the  imputation  of 
favouring  Mr.    Wogan 's  cause.' 

Lady  Oxford  thanked  him  with  a  shy  look,  and 
they   drove   back   among   the   streets.      Neither   of 

24 


370 


PARSON    KELLY 


them  spoke  until  they  reached  Queen's  Square,  but 
Colonel  Montague  was  again  very  gentle  as  he 
handed  her  from  the  carriage  and  bade  her  good-bye. 
Lady  Oxford's  discretion  was  to  seek.  The  Colonel 
seemed  to  be  in  a  relenting  mood;  she  could  not 
resist  the   temptation. 

'  My  Corydon ! '  she  whispered  under  her  breath. 

Montague's  face  hardened  in  an  instant. 

'  My  Phylinda ! '  he  replied.  '  No,  I  should  say 
ray  Smilissa.  Madam,  there  is,  in  truth,  some 
family  likeness  between  the  names,  and  perhaps  it 
would  be  better  if  I  said  simply  "  Lady  Oxford."  ' 

So  the  Colonel  got  his  foot  out  of  the  net.  Her 
ladyship  made  no  answer  to  his  sneer,  but  bowed 
her  head  and  passed  slowly  into  her  house.  Mon- 
tague had  struck  harder  than  he  had  intended,  and 
would  gladly  have  recalled  the  words.  But  the 
door  was  closed,  and  the  strange  woman  out  of  sight 
and  hearing.  He  walked  away  to  his  lodging  in 
Ryder  Street,  very  well  content  with  his  day's 
work,  and  opening  the  door  of  his  parlour  on  the 
first  floor  was  at  once  incommoded  by  a  thick  fog  of 
tobacco-smoke.  But  through  the  fog  he  saw,  com- 
fortably stretched  in  his  best  armchair,  with  his 
peruke  pushed  back  and  his  waistcoat  unbuttoned, 
a  lackey  in  Lady  Oxford's  livery.  Montague  lifted 
up  his  voice  and  swore. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

HOW  THE   MINIATURE   OF   LADY   OXFORD   CAME   BY 

A   MISCHANCE. 

I  LENT   you   the   swiftest   horse    I  have,'  said 
Montague. 

'  It  is  just  for  that  reason  I  am  back  before  you,' 
replied  Wogan. 

Colonel  Montague  at  once  became  punctilious  to 
the  last  degree.  He  stood  correct  in  the  stiffest 
attitude  of  military  deportment.  A  formal  polite- 
ness froze  the  humanity  out  of  his  face. 

'This  makes  me  very  ridiculous,  Mr.  Wogan,' 
he  said  in  a  tone  of  distaste.  '  If  you  will  pardon 
the  remark,  I  was  at  some  pains  and  perhaps  a  little 
risk  to  get  you  safe  out  of  London.  You  accepted 
my  services,  as  it  seemed,  and  yet  here  you  are  back 
in  London  !     Indeed  this  makes  me  very  ridiculous. ' 

Mr.  Wogan  had  quite  forgotten  that  Colonel 
Montague  was  an  Englishman,  and  so  hated  ridicule 
worse  than  the  devil.  He  was  briskly  reminded  of 
the  fact,  and  having  ruffled  the  gentleman's  feel- 
ings,  must  now  set  to  work  to  soothe  them. 

*  It  is  very  true,  Colonel.  My  behaviour  looks 
uncommonly  like  a  breach  of  good  taste.  But  it 
was  not  for  the  purpose  of  playing  a  trick  on  you 
that  I  came  back  into  danger,  when  I  was  safe  upon 


372  PARSON    KELLY 

the  back  of  your  beautiful  horse.  Sure,  never  have 
I  ridden  a  nobler  beast.  A  mouth  of  velvet,  a  leg 
tapered  like  a  fine  lady's  finger,  a  coat  —  sir,  I  have 
seen  the  wonderful  manufactures  of  Lyons,  There 
never  was  silk  so  smooth  or  of  so  bright  a  gloss,  as 
the  noble  creature's  coat.  He  spurned  the  earth, 
at  each  moment  he  threatened  to  float  among  the 
clouds.  Sure,  that  horse  was  the  original  of  Pegasus 
in  a  direct  descent.  A  true  horse,  and  more  than  a 
horse,  a  copy  of  all  that  is  best  in  England,  an 
example  of  what  is  most  English  and  therefore  most 
admired,  the  true  English  military  gentleman. ' 

*  Mr.  Wogan, '  interrupted  Montague,  with  a  grim 
sort  of  smile,  '  you  are  likely  to  learn  a  little  more 
particularly  about  the  velvet  mouth  of  the  English 
military  gentleman  if  you  continue  to  praise  his 
horse  at  the  expense  of  his  sense.  Will  you  tell 
me  why  you  have  come  back.''' 

*  You  have  a  right  to  ask  that,  Colonel,  but  I  have 
no  right  to  answer  you.  It  is  a  private  affair 
wherein  others  are  concerned.  I  should  have 
remembered  it  before,  but  I  did  not.  It  only  came 
into  my  mind  when  I  was  riding  between  the  chest- 
nut trees,  and  leaving  my  friend  behind  me.' 

Colonel  Montague  was  silent  for  a  little. 

'  In  another  man,  Mr.  Wogan,  I  should  suspect 
an  intention  to  meddle  with  these  plots.  But  I 
have  no  need  to  remind  you  that  such  a  proceeding 
would  not  be  fair  to  me.  And  if  Mr.  Kelly's  con- 
cerns have  brought  you  back  I  cannot  complain. 
Meanwhile  how  are  you  to  lie  hidden.?  I  cannot 
keep  you  here. ' 

*  There  are  one  or  two  earths,  Colonel,  which  are 


PARSON    KELLY  373 

not  yet  stopped,  I  have  no  doubt.     I  did  but   take 
the  liberty  to  use  your  lodging  until  it  grew  dark.' 

The  evening  was  falling  while  Wogan  and  Mon- 
tague thus  talked  together.  Wogan  wrote  a  letter 
which  he  put  into  his  pocket,  and  holding  the  ends 
of  his  wig  in  his  mouth,  without  any  fear  ran  the 
hazard  of  the  streets. 

Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  was  that  evening 
adorning  herself  for  a  masquerade  in  her  house, 
when  word  was  carried  to  her  that  Lady  Oxford's 
big  lackey  was  below  and  had  brought  a  letter. 
Lady  Mary  had  no  sooner  glanced  at  the  superscrip- 
tion than  she  sent  her  maid  downstairs  to  bring  the 
lackey  immediately  to  her  boudoir.  Thither  he 
came  without  awaking  suspicion  in  the  servants,  and 
found  Lady  Mary  sitting  in  front  of  her  toilette, 
which  was  all  lighted  up  with  candles,  and  the  rest 
of  the  room  dark. 

Mr.  Wogan  remained  in  a  dark  corner  by  the 
door. 

'You  have  a  message  from  Lady  Oxford,'  said 
she,  carelessly  holding  out  a  hand  as  though  to  take 
a  letter. 

*  By  word  of  mouth,  your  ladyship,'  replied  Wogan 
in  a  disguised  voice. 

Lady  Mary  dismissed  her  maid  and  spoke  in 
considerable  heat: 

*  Colonel  Montague  told  me  you  had  escaped. ' 

'I  have  come  back,'  replied  Wogan  coolly,  who 
had  no  reason  to  think  he  had  justly  incurred  Lady 
Mary's  anger,  and  so  made  no  account  of  it. 

'  It  is  sheer  madness,'  she  exclaimed,  *  and  yet  no 
more  mad  than  it  is  for  your  friends  to  take  pre- 


374 


PARSON    KELLY 


cautions  for  your  safety, '  and  she  dabbed  a  patch  on 
her  cheek  viciously.      '  Why  have  you  come  back  ? ' 

'  Your  ladyship  has  not  forgotten  how  some  while 
ago  Lady  Oxford  paid  her  losses  at  cards.  * 

Lady  Mary  raised  her  head  from  her  mirror  and 
looked  at  Wogan. 

'  With  Mr.  Kelly's  winnings  from  the  South  Sea,' 
said  she. 

'  Your  ladyship  was  kind  enough  then  to  say  that 
you  would  not  count  the  money  yours. ' 

'  I  remember. ' 

*  But  would  keep  it,  since  you  could  not  return  it 
to  George,  until  such  time  as  it  could  be  used  on 
his  behalf. ' 

Lady  Mary  took  a  key  from  a  drawer  in  her  toilette 
and,  unlocking  a  cabinet  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
showed  Wogan  a  parcel  of  bills  of  exchange  lying 
amongst  a  heap  of  guineas. 

'  The  moment  for  using  it  has  come, '  said  Wogan. 

'  Take  it,  then, '  said  Lady  Mary,  who  now  asked 
for  no  explanations. 

'  No.      It  is  only  of  use  if  your  ladyship  uses  it. ' 

*  How .? ' 

Lady  Mary  went  back  to  her  toilette  and  busied 
herself  with  a  number  of  little  silver  pots  and  boxes, 
while  Wogan  disclosed  his  plan. 

'  George  was  taken  last  night  in  his  lodging,  as 
your  ladyship  is  no  doubt  aware.  It  is  a  large  sum 
that  Lady  Oxford  lost  at  cards,  and  a  large  sum 
might  perhaps  bail  George,  if  a  trusted  Whig  were 
the  surety.  He  would  have  some  few  weeks  of 
liberty,   at  all  events. ' 

'  Some  few  weeks  that  are  like  to  cost  you  your 


PARSON    KELLY  375 

life,'  said  Lady  Mary,  who  was  now  grown  friendly. 
*  It  was  to  tell  me  this  you  came  back.  I  should 
have  guessed. ' 

'  Madam,  I  shall  never  believe  my  life's  in  danger 
until  I  am  dead,'  replied  Wogan,  with  a  laugh. 

'  I  will  see  what  the  money  can  do  to-morrow,' 
said  Lady  Mary.  '  Where  shall  I  have  news  of  you  ? 
Or  very  likely  I  am  to  meet  you  at  Ranelagh.^ ' 

Wogan  disclaimed  any  such  bravado,  and  told  her 
ladyship  of  a  house  where  she  might  hear  of  him  if 
she  sent  by  night  and  if  her  messenger  knocked  in  a 
particular  way.  To  that  house  he  now  bent  his 
steps,  and  stayed  there  that  night  and  the  next  day. 
It  was  already  dark  when  the  particular  knock 
sounded  on  the  door,  and  Mr.  Wogan  lifted  a  corner 
of  the  blind  and  peered  down  into  the  street.  What 
he  saw  brought  him  down  the  stairs  in  a  single 
bound;  he  opened  the  door  cautiously,  and  who 
should  slip  in  but  the  Parson. 

'Nick!'  said  he,  in  a  warm  voice.  His  hand 
clasped  Wogan' s  in  the  dark.      '  Thanks,  thanks  ! ' 

It  appeared  that  Lady  Mary,  after  seeing  that  George 
was  bailed  out,  had  told  him  that  the  notion  of  bail- 
ing him  was  none  of  hers.  Moreover,  in  order  to 
make  sure  Smilinda's  letters  were  safe,  Kelly  had 
gone  as  soon  as  he  was  released  to  Colonel  Mon- 
tague, who  told  him  of  Wogan's  return  to  London 
and  other  matters  of  no  importance,  so  that  he  now 
wasted  a  great  deal  of  time  in  superfluous  compli- 
ments. '  But  you  shall  not  lose  your  life  on  my 
account,  Nick.  Montague's  horse,  which  it  seems 
you  have  taken  a  liking  to,'  he  said,  with  a  smile, 
'will  be  waiting  for  you  at  twelve  o'clock  to-night 


376  PARSON    KELLY 

at  Dulwich,  and  in  the  same  road ;  but,  Nick,  this 
time  you  will  have  to  walk  to  Dulwich.  There  is  a 
warrant  out  for  you.  You  can  slip  away  with  a 
better  chance  on  foot;  and,  Nick,  this  time  you  will 
not  come  back.      Promise  me  that. ' 

Wogan  promised  readily  enough. 

'  I  brought  the  Colonel  into  some  danger  of  sus- 
picion by  returning  before, '  he  said.  '  It  is  a  strange 
thing,  George,  that,  while  our  friends  have  left  us 
in  the  lurch,  we  should  owe,  I  my  escape,  you  your 
few  weeks  of  liberty,  to  perfectly  inveterate  Whigs, 
though  how  you  came  to  an  understanding  with  the 
Colonel  is  quite  beyond  me  to  imagine. ' 

'  I  will  tell  you  that  now,  Nick,  since  you  have 
an  hour  to  spare;  '  and,  going  up  to  Wogan's  room, 
Mr.  Kelly  related  to  him  the  story  of  his  meeting 
with  the  Colonel  in  the  Park,  of  the  disturbance 
with  the  Messengers  in  his  rooms,  and  of  the  saving 
of  Smilinda,  and  how  his  love  for  Rose  urged  him 
to  it.  It  was  eight  o'clock  when  he  had  come  to  an 
end.     Mr.  Wogan  heard  the  clocks  striking  the  hour. 

'  It  will  take  me  an  hour  to  get  to  Dulwich,'  he 
said,  '  so  I  have  three  hours  to  spare.  George,  have 
you  seen  Rose .'' ' 

'  No ;  but  she  knows  that  I  am  free,  for  Lady  Mary 
sent  the  news  to  her. ' 

*  That 's  a  pity,'  said  Wogan,  pursing  his  lips. 

*  On  the  contrary,  it  was  not  the  least  kind  of 
Lady  Mary's  many  kindnesses,'  said  George,  who 
was  astonished  at  Mr.  Wogan's  cruelty,  that  would 
have  left  the  girl  in  her  anxieties  a  moment  longer 
than  was  necessary.  '  Had  she  not  heard  the  news 
till  it  was  stale,  she  would  never  have  forgiven  me 


PARSON    KELLY  377 

— 'She  that  has  forgiven  me  so  much,'  said  he,  with 
more  sentiment  than  logic. 

'  Oh, '  said  Wogan,  '  she  has  forgiven  you  so  much  ? 
My  young  friend,  you  are  very  certain  upon  a  very 
uncertain  point.  There  's  that  little  matter  of  her 
ladyship's  miniature.' 

Mr.  Kelly  looked  anxiously  at  Wogan. 

'True,'  said  he;  'I  told  her  a  lie  about  it  at 
Avignon,  and  made  out  it  was  the  likeness  of  Queen 
Clementina.' 

'  The  lie  is  the  smallest  part  of  the  difficulty. 
She  wore  the  miniature,  and  wore  it  in  Lady  Oxford's 
withdrawing-room.  There  's  the  trouble,  for  there's 
the  humiliation. ' 

'  But,  Nick,'  said  Kelly,  '  she  forgave  it.  Didn't 
I  escort  her  to  her  chair.?  Didn't  I  feel  her  hand 
upon  the  sleeve  of  my  coat .''  ' 

*  Oh !  she  carried  herself  very  bravely,  never  a 
doubt  of  that.  For  one  thing,  you  were  in  peril; 
and,  to  be  sure,  she  will  have  kept  a  liking  for  you 
at  the  worst  of  it.  For  another,  Lady  Oxford  was 
there,  and  Lady  Oxford  was  not  to  win  the  day. 
My  little  friend  Rose  is  a  girl  of  an  uncommon 
spirit,  and  would  hold  her  own  against  any  woman, 
for  all  her  modest  ways.  But,  just  because  she  has 
spirit,  she  will  not  meekly  forgive  you.  If  you 
expect  her  to  droop  humbly  on  to  your  bosom,  you 
are  entirely  in  the  wrong  of  it.  'Oons  !  but  it  must 
have  been  a  hard  blow  to  her  pride  when  she  found 
she  was  in  Lady  Oxford's  house,  and  knew  who 
Lady  Oxford  was,  and  had  that  miniature  about  her 
throat.  Will  she  forgive  you  at  all  ?  The  best  you 
have  to  hope  is  that  she  will  be  content  with  mak- 


J/ 


7  8  PARSON    KELLY 


ing  your  head    sing.     That  she  will  do  for  a  sure 
thing;  and  I  think — ' 

'  What  ? '  asked  the  Parson.  The  danger  of  life, 
the  Messengers,  the  angry  Colonel,  had  only  raised 
his  blood;  the  fear  of  Rose  drove  it  to  his  heart. 
He  was  now  plainly  scared. 

'  I  think  it  was  the  greatest  pity  imaginable  that 
Lady  Mary  sent  word  to  her  you  were  free.  For, 
d'  ye  see,  if  you  had  dropped  upon  Rose  suddenly, 
and  she  thinking  you  locked  up  in  a  dark  prison 
and  your  head  already  loose  upon  your  shoulders, 
why,  you  might  have  surprised  her  into  a  forgetful- 
ness  of  her  pride;  but  now  she  will  be  prepared  for 
your  coming.  I  think,  George,  I  will  walk  along 
with  you  as  far  as  Soho,  since  I  have  three  hours  to 
kick  my  heels  in.' 

'Will  you,  Nick.!"'  cried  George  eagerly;  and 
then,  with  his  nose  in  the  air,  '  But  I  have  no  fears 
whatever.  She  is  a  woman  in  a  thousand. '  He 
was,  none  the  less,  evidently  relieved  when  Wogan 
clapped  his  hat  on  his  head.  The  night  was 
dark,  and  Wogan  in  his  livery  had  no  fears  of 
detection. 

The  two  men  walked  through  by-streets  until  they 
came  to  Piccadilly.  The  Parson  was  nerving  him- 
self for  the  meeting,  but  would  not  allow  that  he 
was  in  the  least  degree  afraid.  *  A  trivial  woman 
would  think  of  nothing  but  her  humiliation  and  her 
slight,  but  Rose  is,  as  you  say,  of  an  uncommon 
spirit,  Nick,'  he  argued. 

Nick,  however,  preserved  a  majestic  silence, 
which  daunted  the  Parson,  who  desired  arguments 
to  confute.     They  were  by  this  time  come  into  Bond 


PARSON    KELLY  379 

Street,  and  Mr.  Kelly,  who  must  be  talking,  declared 
with  a  great  fervour,  '  There  are  no  limits  to  a 
woman's  leniencies.  Black  errors  she  will  pardon; 
charity  is  her  father  and  her  mother;  she  has  an 
infinity  of  forgiveness,  wherefore  with  truth  we 
place  her  among  the  angels. '  Upon  that  text  he 
preached  most  eloquently  all  the  way  up  Bond 
Street,  past  the  New  Building,  until  he  came  to 
the  corner  of  Frith  Street  in  Soho.  In  Frith  Street, 
all  at  once  the  Parson's  assurance  was  shown  to  be 
counterfeit.      He  caught  at  his  friend's  arm. 

'  Nick,'  said  he,  in  a  quavering,  humble  voice,  '  it 
is  in  Frith  Street  she  lives.  What  am  I  to  do  at 
all  ?  I  am  the  most  ignorant  man,  and  a  coward  into 
the  bargain.  Nick,  I  have  done  the  unpardonable 
thing.      What  am  I  to  do  now.? ' 

Thus  the  Parson  twittered  in  a  most  deplorable 
agitation.  Mr.  Wogan,  on  the  contrary,  was  very 
calm.  It  was  just  in  these  little  difficulties,  which 
require  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  sex,  that  he 
felt  himself  most  at  home.  He  stroked  his  chin 
thoughtfully. 

'  Nick,'  and  George  shook  the  arm  he  held,  '  sure 
you  can  advise  me.  You  have  told  me  so  often  of 
your  great  comprehension  of  women.  Sure,  you 
know  all  there  is  to  be  known  about  them,  at 
all' 

'No,  not  quite  all,'  said  Wogan,  with  a  proper 
modesty.  *  But  here  I  think  I  can  help  you.  Which 
is  the  house.? ' 

Kelly  pointed  it  out.  A  couple  of  windows  shone 
very  bright  upon  the  dark  street,  a  few  feet  above 
their  heads.      Looking  upwards  they  could  see  the 


38o  PARSON    KELLY 

ceiling  of  the  room  and  the  globe  of  a  lamp  reflected 
on  the. ceiling,  but  no  more. 

'  It  is  in  that  room  she  will  be  sitting, '  whispered 
the  Parson. 

*  And  waiting  for  you,'  added  Mr.   Wogan  grimly. 

'  And  waiting  for  me,'  repeated  the  Parson  with  a 
shiver. 

They  both  stared  for  a  little  at  the  ceiling  and 
the  shadow  of  the  lamp. 

'Now,  if  the  ceiling  would  only  tell  us  something 
of  her  face, '  said  Kelly. 

'  It  would  be  as  well  to  have  a  look  at  her,'  said 
Wogan.  The  street  was  quite  deserted.  '  Will  you 
give  me  a  back  '  .-* 

The  house  was  separated  from  the  path  by  an  iron 
railing  a  couple  of  feet  from  the  wall.  The  Parson 
set  his  legs  apart  and  steadied  himself  by  the  rail- 
ing, while  Wogan  climbed  up  and  knelt  on  to  his 
shoulders.  In  that  position  he  was  able  to  lean 
forward  and  catch  hold  of  the  sill.  His  forehead 
was  on  a  level  with  the  sill.  By  craning  his  neck 
he  could  just  look  into  the  room. 

'  Is  she  there  ? '  asked  the  Parson. 

'  Yes,  and  alone. ' 

'  How  does  she  look?  Not  in  tears .-^  Nick,  don't 
tell  me  she's  in  tears.'  The  Parson's  legs  became 
unsteady  at  the  mere  supposition  of  such  a  calamity. 

'Make  yourself  easy  upon  that  point,'  said 
Wogan,  clinging  for  dear  life  to  the  sill,  'there's 
never  a  trace  of  a  tear  about  her  at  all.  For  your 
sake,  George,  I  could  wish  that  there  was.  Her 
eyes  are  as  dry  as  a  campaigner's  biscuits.  Oh, 
George,   I  am  in  despair  for  you. ' 


PARSON    KELLY  381 

'  Nick,  you  are  the  most  consoling  friend,'  groaned 
the  Parson,  who  now  wished  for  tears  more  than 
anything  else  in  the  world.      '  What  is  she  doing? ' 

'  Nothing  at  all.  She  is  sitting  at  the  table. 
George,  have  you  ever  noticed  her  chin }  It  is  a 
sort  of  decisive  chin,  and  upon  my  word,  George,  it 
has  the  ugliest  jilting  look  that  ever  I  saw.  She 
has  just  the  same  look  in  her  big  grey  eyes,  which 
are  staring  at  nothing  at  all.  Keep  still,  George, 
or  you  will  throw  me. ' 

For  the  Parson  was  become  as  uneasy  as  a  restive 
horse. 

'  But,  Nick,  is  she  doing  nothing  at  all  ?  Is  she 
reading .'' ' 

'  No,  she  is  doing  nothing  but  expect  you.  But 
she  is  expecting  you.  Steady,  for  if  I  tumble  off 
your  shoulders  the  noise  will  bring  her  to  the 
windows. ' 

The  menace  had  its  effect.  Mr.  Kelly's  limbs 
became  pillars  of  marble,  and  Wogan  again  looked 
into  the  room. 

'  Wait  a  moment, '  he  said,  '  I  see  what  she  is 
doing.  She  is  staring  at  something  she  holds  in 
her  hands. ' 

'  My  likeness.^ '  cried  the  Parson  hopefully.  '  To 
be  sure  it  will  be  that. ' 

'  I  will  tell  you  in  a  moment.  Hold  on  to  the 
railings,    George.' 

George  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  Wogan,  still  hold- 
ing to  the  window-sill  very  cautiously,  stood  up  on 
his  friend's  shoulders.  George,  however,  seemed 
quite  insensible  to  Mr.  Wogan's  weight. 

'It  will  be  my  likeness,'  he  repeated  to  himself. 


382 


PARSON    KELLY 


'  I  had  it  done  for  her  by  Mr.  Zincke.      I  was  right, 
Nick;  she  has  forgiven  me  altogether. ' 

Mr.  Wogan's  head  was  now  well  above  the  win- 
dow-sill, and  he  looked  downwards  upon  Rose,  who 
sat  at  the  table. 

*  Yes,  it 's  a  likeness,'  said  Nick. 

'  I  told  you.  I  told  you, '  said  the  Parson.  The 
man  began  to  wriggle  with  satisfaction.  '  You  are 
wrong,  Nick.  You  know  nothing  at  all  about 
women,  after  all.  Come  down,  you  vainglorious 
boaster. '  It  seemed  he  was  about  to  cut  capers  with 
Mr.  Wogan  on  his  shoulders. 

'Wait,'  said  Nick  suddenly,  and  hitched  himself 
higher. 

'  Nick,  she  will  see  you.' 

'  No,  she  's  occupied.     George ! ' 

'  What  is  it  ? ' 

'  It 's  Lady  Oxford's  miniature  she  is  staring  at, 
and  not  yours  at    all. ' 

The  Parson  grew  quite  stiff  and  rigid. 

'  Are  you  sure.^ '  he  whispered,  in  an  awe-stricken 
voice. 

*  I  can  see  the  diamonds  flashing.  'Faith  my 
friend,  but  I  had  done  better  to  have  let  you  throw 
them  into  the  sea  at  Genoa. ' 

A  groan  broke  from  the  Parson. 

'  Why  did  n't  you,  Nick  >     What  am  I  to  do  now .?  ' 

'  I  can  see  the  face.  'Tis  the  miniature  of  her 
ladyship  that  you  gave  out  to  be  Queen  Clemen- 
tina's. Did  you  ever  meet  Gaydon,  George.?'  he 
asked   curiously. 

'  Gaydon  } '  asked  Kelly.  '  What  in  the  world  has 
Gaydon  to  do  with  Rose? ' 


PARSON    KELLY  ^^3 

'  Listen,  and  I  '11  inform  you.  He  told  my  brother 
Charles  a  very  pretty  story  of  the  Princess  Clemen- 
tina. It  seems  that  when  she  escaped  out  of  her 
perils  and  came  to  Bologna  to  marry  the  Chevalier, 
who  had,  just  at  the  moment  when  he  expected  his 
bride,  unaccountably  retired  into  Spain,  she  stayed 
at  Bologna,  and  so,  picking  up  the  gossip  of  the 
town,  expressed  a  great  desire  to  visit  the  Caprara 
Palace.  'Twas  there  the  lady  lived  who  had  con- 
soled the  Chevalier  in  his  anxieties.  No  doubt  he 
never  expected  the  Princess  to  get  out  of  the 
Emperor's  prison.  But  Charles  got  her  out,  and 
here  was  she  at  Bologna.  To  be  sure,  the  Princess 
was  a  most  natural  woman,  eh.?  And  when  she 
came  to  the  Caprara  Palace  she  asked  to  be  shown 
the  portrait  of  the  Princess  de  la  Caprara.  That 
was  more  natural  still.  Gaydon  describes  how  she 
looked  at  the  portrait,  and  describes  very  well. 
For  sure  Rose  is  looking  at  Lady  Oxford's  in  just 
the  same  way. ' 

'That's  good  news,  Nick,'  said  Kelly,  grasping 
at  a  straw  of  comfort.  '  For  the  Princess  Clementina 
forgave. ' 

'  Ah,  but  there  's  a  difference  I  did  not  remark  at 
the  first.  I  remember  Gaydon  said  the  Princess 
turned  very  red,  while  your  little  friend  Rose,  on  the 
contrary,  is  white  to  the  edge  of  her  lips.  Sure, 
red  forgives,  when  white  will  not.  George,'  and 
Mr.  Wogan  ducked  his  head  beneath  the  window- 
ledge,  '  she  is  coming  to  the  window!  For  the  love 
of  mercy  don't  move,  or  she  will  hear! ' 

George  pressed  himself  close  to  the  railings. 
Wogan    hunched   himself   against   the   wall    in  the 


384  PARSON    KELLY 

most  precarious  attitude.  Would  she  open  the 
window?  Would  she  see  them?  Both  men  quaked 
as  they  asked  themselves  the  question,  though  they 
had  come  thither  for  no  other  purpose  but  to  see  her 
and  be  seen  of  her.  Wogan  threw  a  glance  over  his 
shoulder  to  where  the  light  of  the  window  fell  upon 
the  road.      But  no  shadow  obscured  it. 

'Sure,  she's  not  coming  to  the  window  at  all,' 
said  Nick. 

'  Oh,  Nick,'  whispered  the  Parson,  '  you  made  my 
heart  jump  into  my  throat. ' 

Wogan  drew  his  head  up  level  with  the  window 
again,  and  again  ducked. 

'  She  is  standing  looking  towards  the  window  with 
the  likeness  in  her  hand,'  and  he  scrambled  to  the 
ground,  where  the  pair  of  them  stood  looking  at  one 
another,  and  then  to  the  house,  and  from  the  house 
down  the  street.  Wogan  was  the  first  to  find  his 
tongue. 

'  It  is  a  monstrous  thing,'  said  he,  and  he  thumped 
his  chest,  '  that  a  mere  slip  of  a  girl  should  frighten 
two  grown  men  to  death. ' 

Mr.  Kelly  thumped  his  chest  too,  but  without  any 
assurance. 

'  Nick,  I  must  look  for  myself,'  he  said. 

Footsteps  sounded  a  little  distance  down  the 
street,  and  sounded  louder  the  next  moment.  A 
man  was  approaching;  they  waited  until  he  had 
passed,  and  then  Mr.  Kelly  climbed  on  to  Wo- 
gan's  shoulders,  and  in  his  turn  looked  into  the 
room. 

*  Nick! '  he  whispered  in  a  voice  of  awe. 

'  What  is  she  doing?  ' 


PARSON    KELLY  385 

*  She  has  thrown  Smilinda's  likeness  on  the 
ground.  She  is  stamping  on  it  with  her  heel. 
She  is  grinding  it  all  in  pieces.' 

'  And  the  beautiful  diamonds  ?  Look  if  she  picks 
them  up,  George!' 

'  No ;  she  pays  no  heed  to  the  stones.  It  is  the 
likeness  she  thinks  of.  It  was  in  pieces  a  moment 
ago ;  it  is  all  powder  now, '  and  he  groaned. 

'  George,  it  is  an  ill  business.  When  a  woman 
spurns  diamonds  you  may  be  sure  she  is  in  a  mortal 
fluster.  It's  a  Gorgon  you  have  to  meet  —  a  veri- 
table Gorgon.' 

Mr.  Kelly  slid  from  Wogan's  shoulders  to  the 
ground. 

'What  will  I  do,  Nick.?' 

Nick  bit  his  thumb,  then  threw  his  shoulders 
back. 

'  I  am  not  afraid  of  her,'  said  he.  '  No,  I  am  not. 
I  have  done  nothing  to  anger  or  humiliate  her.  I 
am  not  afraid  of  her  at  all  —  not  the  least  in  the 
world.  I  will  go  in  myself.  I  will  beard  her  just 
to  show  you  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  her. ' 

'  Will  you  do  that.-*  Nick,  you  are  a  friend,'  cried 
Kelly,  who  was  most  reasonably  startled  by  his 
friend's  heroism. 

'  To  be  sure  I  will,'  said  Nick,  looking  up  at  the 
window.  '  I  am  not  afraid  of  her.  A  little  slip  of 
a  girl!  Why  should  we  fear  her  at  all?  Haven't 
we  killed  men  more  than  once.''  Do  you  wait  here, 
George.  If  I  hold  my  hand  up  at  the  window  with 
my  fingers  open  —  so,  you  may  come  in.  But  if  I 
hold  up  a  clenched  fist,  you  had  best  go  home  as  fast 
as  your  legs  can  carry  you.     You  see,  the  case  is 

25 


386 


PARSON    KELLY 


different  with  you.     I  have  no  reason  whatever  to  be 
frightened  at  her. ' 

He  knocked  at  the  door,  and  in  a  little  the  door 
was  opened.  '  Not  the  least  bit  in  the  world  ! '  he 
stopped  to  say  to  Mr.  Kelly  in  the  street.  Then  he 
stepped  into  the  passage. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

MR.   WOGAN   TRADUCES   HIS    FRIEND,   WITH   THE 
HAPPIEST  CONSEQUENCES 

MR.  WOGAN'S  title  of  Hilton  was  now,  thanks 
to  the  Flying  Post,  as  familiar  as  his  name; 
he  refused  both  the  one  and  the  other  to  the  ser- 
vant, and  was  admitted  to  Rose  Townley  without 
any  formalities.  Her  eyes  flashed  as  they  remarked 
his  livery,  but  she  was  not  in  any  concern  about  Mr, 
Wogan,  and  asked  him  no  questions.  She  rose  with 
the  utmost  coldness,  did  not  give  him  her  hand,  and 
only  the  bare  mockery  of  a  bow,  as  though  her  in- 
dignation against  Mr.  Kelly  was  so  complete  that  it 
must  needs  embrace  his  friend. 

'  I  thought  that  he  would  have  plucked  up  enough 
courage  to  come  himself,'  said  she,  with  a  con- 
temptuous shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

'  He  is  a  man  of  the  meanest  spirit,'  replied 
Wogan,  in  a  sullen  agreement.  'It  is  a  strange 
thing  how  easily  one  may  be  misled.  Here  have 
I  been  going  up  and  down  the  world  with  him  for 
years,  and  I  never  knew  him  until  now,  never  knew 
the  black  heart  of  him,  and  his  abominable  per- 
fidies.' 

Rose  was  taken  aback  by  Wogan's  speech.  No 
doubt  she  expected   a  hotch-potch  of  excuses  and 


388  PARSON    KELLY 

arguments  on  Mr.  Kelly's  behalf,  which  would 
but  have  confirmed  her  in  her  own  opinion  ;  but 
falling  in  with  her  views,  he  took  the  words  out 
of  her  mouth. 

'  So,'  she  said  doubtfully,  '  he  has  lost  your  friend- 
ship too?' 

'  To  be  sure,'  cried  Wogan  in  a  heat,  '  would  you 
have  me  keep  friends  with  a  vile  wretch  whose 
thoughts  writhe  at  the  bottom  of  his  soul  like  a 
poisonous  nest  of  vipers?' 

Rose  neither  answered  the  question  nor  expressed 
any  approval  of  VVogan's  elegant  figure  describing 
Mr.  Kelly's  mind. 

*  Oh,'  said  she,  '  then  he  did  not  send  you  to  make 
his  peace  with  me?' 

Wogan  answered  with  all  the  appearances  of 
reluctance. 

'  No.  In  fact  the  man  was  coming  himself,  and 
with  a  light  heart.  He  made  a  great  to-do  about 
the  infinite  fairness  and  charity  of  women,  which 
place  them  equal  to  the  angels,  and  how  you  ex- 
celled all  women  in  that  and  other  womanly  quali- 
ties. But  I  told  him,  on  the  contrary,  that  I  knew 
your  spirit,  and  that  you  were  of  too  noble  a  pride 
to  shut  your  eyes  to  a  slight,  and  would  certainly 
dismiss  him.  However,  he  would  not  be  persuaded, 
so  I  slipped  away  from  him  and  ran  here,  so  that  I 
might  warn  you  against  him.' 

Rose  forgot  to  thank  Mr.  Wogan  for  his  zeal 
on  her  behalf  Indeed  her  face,  in  spite  of  her- 
self, had  lightened  for  a  second ;  in  spite  of  her- 
self her  eyes  had  sparkled  when  Wogan  spoke  of 
the  great  faith  Mr.  Kelly  had  in  her  charity. 


PARSON    KELLY  389 

*  It  was  more  than  a  slight,'  she  said,  '  I  coukl 
forgive  a  sUght —  He  would  have  come  himself  had 
not  you  prevented  him.' 

'  But  he  is  coming.  He  would  have  been  here 
already,  but  that  he  paid  a  visit  on  the  way  to 
Colonel  Montague  to  discover  whether  Lady  Ox- 
ford's letters  had  been  restored  to  her.' 

'  Lady  Oxford's  letters  ! '  exclaimed  Rose,  her  face 
flushing  again  with  anger. 

'  To  be  sure,'  said  Wogan,  '  you  would  know 
nothing  of  them.  It  is  a  fine  story  —  the  story 
of  Lady  Oxford's  love-letters.' 

'  I  have  no  wish  to  hear  it,'  cried  Rose  sharply,  and 
she  turned  towards  the  window.  Mr.  Wogan  took  a 
quick  step  towards  her.  If  she  looked  out  of  the 
window  she  could  hardly  fail  to  observe  the  Parson. 

*  Nor  is  it  a  story  that  you  should  hear,'  said 
Wogan  in  a  soothing  voice, '  though  indeed  to  hear  it 
from  Mr.  Kelly's  lips  would  surely  make  you  aware 
of  his  devilish  sophistries.  For  he  declares  that, 
but  for  you,  Lady  Oxford's  love-letters  would  never 
have  been  restored  to  her,  nor  would  he  have  gone 
to  prison  and  put  his  neck  in  the  noose.' 

Rose  shivered  at  those  last  words  and  drew  in  her 
breath.     She  turned  quickly  back  to  Wogan. 

'  But  for  me?  '  she  asked.  '  What  have  I  to  do  with 
Lady  Oxford's  love-letters,  or  with  his  danger?'  and 
her  voice  softened  towards  the  end  of  the  sentence. 

'  Why,  Lady  Oxford,  who  knew  very  well  Mr. 
Kelly's  trade,  betrayed  him  in  revenge  for  a  cer- 
tain ballad  wherein  your  name  was  mentioned.' 

'  Yes,'  interrupted  Rose,  '  Lady  Mary  told  me  of 
the  ballad.' 


390 


PARSON    KELLY 


'  Well,  you  heard  Mr.  Kelly  perhaps  assure  Lady 
Oxford  that  he  had  her  brocades  in  his  lodging,  and 
perhaps  you  remarked  her  ladyship's   confusion.' 

'  Yes.     I  guessed  what  the  brocades  were.' 

'  Very  well.  Mr.  Kelly  remained  with  her  Lady- 
ship, who  informed  him  that  he  would  be  taken  out- 
side his  door,  and  his  rooms  searched.  There 
were  papers  in  his  rooms  of  a  kind  to  bring  him 
into  great  danger.  But  there  were  also  Lady  Ox- 
ford's letters.  The  story  he  will  tell  you  is  this, 
that  he  meant  to  use  Lady  Oxford's  letters  as  a 
weapon  by  which  he  might  save  his  papers  and  so 
himself  ;  but  a  complete  revolution  took  place  in 
his  thoughts.  He  suddenly  understood  that  he 
owed  it  to  yoic  that  no  woman's  name  should  be 
smirched  by  his  fault,  and  that  thus  he  was  bound, 
at  the  peril  of  his  life,  to  rescue  Lady  Oxford's 
letters,  as  he  did.  A  strange  chance  put  it  into 
his  hands  to  burn  his  own  papers,  and  leave  Lady 
Oxford's  to  be  seized,  in  which  case  he  would  have 
been  saved,  and  she  lost.  But  he  saved  his  honour 
instead,  and  his  love  for  you  helped  him  to  it.  He 
rescued  her  Ladyship's  letters,  his  own  are  in  the 
hands'  of  the  Minister.' 

Mr.  Wogan,  who  had  now  secured  a  most  at- 
tentive listener,  disclosed  all  that  Mr.  Kelly  had 
told  him  of  what  took  place  in  Ryder  Street. 

'This  is  the  story  he  will  tell  you.  And  to  be 
sure,  he  adds  a  pretty  touch  to  the  pretence.  For 
he  went  whistling  to  prison  and  he  says  that  he 
whistled  because  he  felt  as  if  you  were  walking 
by  his  side.' 

'But  what  if  it  were  no  pretence  at  all?' 


PARSON    KELLY  391 

Mr.  Wogan  sagely  shook  his  head,  though  the 
story  had  the  stamp  of  truth  on  it  to  those  who 
knew  the  Parson. 

'  If  he  had  held  you  in  such  respect  would  he 
have  sent  you  Lady  Oxford's  miniature  to  wear 
at  Lady  Oxford's  rout  .•' ' 

'  But  he  did  not  send  it  to  me  for  that  purpose/ 
she  cried,  '  he  did  not  even  know  that  I  was  going 
to  the  rout.  He  gave  me  the  miniature  a  long 
time  ago,  when  it  would  have  been  very  difficult 
for  him  to  tell  me  whose  it  was.' 

'  But  he  told  you  it  was  Queen  Clementina's.' 
'  No.     It  was  I  who  guessed   at  that,  and   he  — 
did  not  deny  it' 

Here  at  all  events  was  sophistry,  but  Mr.  Wogan 
was  less  indignant  at  it  than  his  anger  with  the 
Parson's  subtleties  would  lead  one  to  expect. 

'Well,'  said  Wogan,  '  I  have  told  you  what  it  was 
my  plain  duty  to  disclose  to  you.' 

At  this  moment  Wogan  chanced  to  look  towards 

the  window.     He  beheld    Mr.  Kelly's   face  pressed 

against  the   glass.     The   man  had   grown   impatient 

and  so  had  climbed  on  to  the  railings.     Mr.  Wogan 

broke  off  with  an  exclamation  he  could  not  repress. 

'What  is  it?'  said  Rose,  turning  about. 

'  Some   most    beautiful    diamonds,'    said    Wogan, 

spreading  out   his   hand   to  the  window.     He  then 

dropped  on  to  the  floor  and   began  picking  up  the 

diamonds  which  Rose  had  scattered   when   she  set 

her  foot  on  the  miniature.     Rose  bit  her  lips,  and 

flushed,   as   he   held   them   in    his    palm.     Then    he 

said  carelessly: 

'That  fine  miniature   had    diamonds   set  about   it. 


'>n  '^ 


92  PARSON    KELLY 

D'  ye  know,  Miss  Townley,  that  miniature  would 
have  been  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  long  before 
Mr.  Kelly  came  to  Avignon,  but  for  the  diamonds 
about  it.  'Twas  I  held  his  arm  when,  having 
done  with  her  Ladyship,  he  would  also  have  done 
with  her  Ladyship's  present,  and  I  bade  him  keep 
it  for  the  value  of  the  jewels.' 

There  was  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door,  which 
came  not  a  moment  earlier  than  was  necessary 
to  prevent  Mr.  Wogan  revealing  himself  as  still 
the  Parson's  friend. 

'  There  's  the  fellow  come  to  importune  you,'  said 
Wogan. 

'Then  he  would  have  thrown  it  away  but  for  you,' 
said  Miss  Townley  thoughtfully.  '  He  did  not  keep 
it  out  of  any — ' 

But  Wogan  heard  the  servant  pass  down  ):o  the 
door,  and  thought  it  would  be  as  well  if  he  had 
a  private  word  with  the  Parson. 

'  You  will  excuse  me,'  he  said  with  dignity,  '  but  I 
have  no  heart  for  the  man's  company.  Besides,  I 
have  stayed  too  long  in  London  as  it  is.  Delays 
would  be  dangerous.' 

But  Rose  had  no  ears  for  any  dangers  of  Mr. 
Wogan,  as  he  was  indescribably  glad  to  remark. 
For  her  eyes  looked  past  him  to  the  door;  from 
head  to  foot  she  seemed  to  listen  for  the  sound  of 
the  Parson's  voice.  Mr.  Wogan  bowed,  and  opened 
the  door.  Though  she  followed  him  to  the  door, 
and  held  it  open  as  he  passed  out,  she  did  not 
notice  that  he  was  going,  she  had  no  word  of 
farewell.  She  did  not  even  notice  that  Mr.  Wogan 
put  the  diamonds  in  his   pocket.     For  Mr.  Wogan 


PARSON    KELLY  393 

had  his  wits  about  him.  Diamonds  were  diamonds, 
and  the  carpet  no  place  for  them.  Some  day  they 
might  be  of  use  to  the  Parson.  The  door  of 
the  street  was  opened  as  Wogan  stepped  into  the 
passage.  But  Rose  did  not  shut  the  door  of  the 
parlour  and  so  Wogan,  as  he  met  Kelly,  could 
only  whisper  hurriedly, '  Remember,  I  am  your  worst 
enemy,'  and  so  left  him  to  his  own  resources. 

It  appeared,  however,  that  they  were  sufficient. 
The  Parson  made  no  excuses  whatever;  he  carried 
the  day  by  the  modesty  of  his  omissions.  Both  with 
regard  to  the  miniature  and  to  the  saving  of  Smil- 
inda  he  disclosed  to  her  no  more  than  a  bald  array 
of  facts.  He  made  no  parade  of  the  part  which  the 
thought  of  Rose  had  played  in  the  revulsion  of  his 
feelings,  bringing  him  to  see  that  he  was  bound  in 
honour  to  save  Smilinda's  honour ;  he  did  not  tell  her 
why  he  went  whistling  to  prison.  But  Rose  knew 
from  Wogan  of  these  evidences  of  his  love,  and  no 
doubt  thought  of  them  the  more  because  he  would 
not  use  them  to  soften  her  just  resentments. 

Mr.  Wogan  left  them  together,  and,  walking  out  to 
Dulwich,  found  the  Colonel's  horse  waiting  in  the  road 
between  the  chestnut  trees.  He  came  to  the  coast  of 
Sussex  in  the  morning,  where  he  had  friends  among 
the  smugglers,  and  lay  all  that  day  in  a  hut  within 
sound  of  the  waves.  It  was  a  black,  melancholy  day 
for  Nicholas  Wogan,  who  was  leaving  his  friends 
behind  him  to  face  their  perils  alone,  and  who  felt 
very  solitary ;  not  even  the  memory  of  the  noble 
deeds  of  his  illustrious  forefathers  had  any  power  to 
cheer  him,  until  he  heard  the  grating  noise  of  the 
boat's  keel  as  it  was  dragged  down  the  beach  to  the 


394 


PARSON    KELLY 


sea,  and  saw  the  sail  like  a  great  wing  waft  up  be- 
tween him  and  the  stars. 

He  got  safe  to  Paris,  where  he  heard  of  the  strange 
use  to  which  the  Parson  put  his  few  weeks  of  liberty, 
for  the  Parson  married  Rose  Townley  three  weeks 
later  at  St.  James's  Church  in  Piccadilly,  and  wrote 
to  Mr.  Wogan  a  very  warm,  human  sort  of  letter 
which  had  not  one  single  classical  allusion  to  disfigure 
it.  In  that  letter  he  gave  the  reasons  which  had 
induced  him  to  the  marriage. 

'  I  am  told,'  he  wrote,  '  that  a  man  so  dangerously 
circumstanced  must  be  selfish  in  the  extreme  to  marry 
a  woman  who,  in  a  short  while,  may,  at  the  worst,  be 
widowed ;  and  at  the  best  must  be  separated  from 
her  husband  in  his  gaol.  I  do  not  fear  that  you  will 
have  so  mean  an  opinion  of  my  inclinations,  but  I 
would  not  have  you  think  me  careless  upon  this  point 
neither.  Dr.  Townley  is  old,  and  his  health  breaks. 
He  will  leave  his  daughter,  when  he  dies,  but  little 
money,  and  that  moment  cannot  be  very  far  off.  It 
is  true  that  Rose  has  beauty,  and  no  doubt  she  might 
make  a  rich  marriage  if  she  had  only  beauty.  But  she 
has  frankness,  truth,  and  constancy  as  well,  qualities 
which  are  not  marketable  wares,  since  those  who 
possess  them  will  not  bring  them  into  the  market. 
Now,  if  I  suffer  death  for  the  Cause,  Rose  will  be  no 
poorer  than  she  was  before ;  if,  on  the  other  hand,  I 
live,  there  are  the  booksellers,  and  from  the  silence  of 
my  prison  I  can  make  shift  to  earn  for  her  a  decent 
livelihood.' 

As  all  the  world  knows,  Mr.  Kelly  lived,  and  even 
gained  much  credit  by  his  speech  at  his  trial.  He 
made  it  plain,  to  all  but  prejudiced  Whigs,  that  there 


PARSON    KELLY  395 

was  no  Plot,  nor  he  concerned  in  any,  if  there  were. 
But  what  is  Whig  justice?  He  was  sentenced  to 
prison  for  hfe.  The  papers  in  his  strong  box  were 
enough  to  help  a  foohsh  fellow.  Counsellor  Layer, 
on  his  way  to  Tyburn,  enough  to  send  Lord  Orrery 
to  the  Tower,  and  Lord  North  and  Grey  into  exile. 
The  Plot  was  ruined  for  that  time ;  the  Bishop  of 
Rochester  was  banished,  for  Mar's  traitorous  mention 
of  the  dog  Harlequin  fixed  the  guilt  on  that  holy 
man.  Mr.  Kelly  came  off  with  loss  of  fourteen  years 
of  his  life,  which  years  he  passed  in  the  Tower. 

It  was  not,  after  all,  so  silent  a  prison  as  he  imagined 
it  would  be.  For  though  during  the  first  months  his 
confinement  was  severe,  and  he  never  drew  air  except 
from  between  the  bars,  afterwards  this  rigour  was  re- 
laxed. He  was  placed  in  a  room  of  which  one  window 
took  the  morning  sun,  and  the  other  commanded  the 
river,  and  the  ships  going  up  and  down  with  the  tide  ; 
he  was  allowed  the  use  of  his  books,  and  to  receive 
what  visitors  he  would.  His  visitors  were  not  few, 
and  amongst  them  Colonel  Montague  was  the  most 
frequent.  His  gaolers,  the  officers  who  were  stationed 
in  the  Tower,  and  their  wives,  became  his  familiar 
friends,  and  it  is  said  that  when,  after  fourteen  years, 
he  escaped,  not  a  woman  in  the  precincts  could  make 
up  her  mind  whether  to  clap  her  hands  for  joy,  or 
weep  at  the  loss  of  his  society.  Moreover,  Rose  came 
and  went  at  her  pleasure. 

The  first  years  of  his  imprisonment  were  thus  not 
wholly  unhappy  years.  He  sat  amongst  his  books 
translating  Cicero,  and  if  at  times  his  limbs  ached  for 
the  stress  and  activity  of  his  youth,  and  he  began 
to  dream  of  hours  in  the  saddle  and  starry  nights  at 


396  PARSON    KELLY 

sea,  it  was  not  perhaps  for  very  long.  He  had  friends 
enough  to  divert  his  leisure  moments,  and  Rose  to 
keep  him  busy  at  his  work.  For  what  he  had  fore- 
seen came  to  pass.  Two  years  after  Mr.  Kelly  came 
to  the  Tower,  Dr.  Townley  died,  and  left  Rose  but 
poorly  circumstanced.  She  came  to  lodge  close  by 
the  Tower  Gates,  and  the  Parson  set  his  pen  to  his 
paper  and  wrote  essays  and  translations  till  the  whole 
Tower  of  London  buzzed  with  his  learning,  and  no 
doubt  a  friendly  Jacobite  here  and  there  bought  one 
of  his  books.  Mr.  Wogan,  indeed,  bought  them  all. 
He  has  them  ranged  upon  a  bookshelf  in  his  lodging 
at  Paris,  all  bound  in  leather  and  most  dignified ;  the 
very  print  has  a  sonorous  look.  '  Mr.  Kelly's  Opera  ' 
he  calls  them,  and  always  speaks  of  the  books  as 
'  tomes '  with  prodigious  respect  and  perhaps  a  sigh. 
For  — 

'  He  lacks  one  quality,'  Mr.  Wogan  was  heard  to 
say,  '  to  set  him  on  the  pinnacle  of  fame.  He  can- 
not write  poetry.  It  is  a  trick,  no  doubt,  a  poor  sort  of 
trick ;  but  George  had  it  not,  and  so  when  there  was 
poetry  to  be  written,  he  had  to  come  to  his  friends.' 

Thus  ten  years  passed,  and  then  came  the  black 
day,  when  Rose  fell  sick  of  a  fever  and  must  keep  her 
bed.  She  sent  word  to  George  daily  that  he  should 
expect  her  on  the  morrow,  until  a  delirium  took  her, 
and  the  doctor,  who  had  been  charged  by  Rose  to 
make  light  of  her  suffering,  was  now  forced  to  tell 
Mr.  Kelly  the  truth.  She  lay  at  death's  door,  calling 
on  her  husband,  who  could  not  come  to  her,  and 
talking  ever  of  that  little  garden  at  Avignon  above 
the  Rhone,  in  which  she  fancied  that  he  and  she 
now  walked. 


PARSON    KELLY  397 

Mr.  Kelly  took  the  news  in  silence  as  a  dog  takes 
pain,  and  never  slept  and  barely  moved  while  the 
fever  ran  its  course.  Rose  was  at  the  Tower  Gates, 
George  was  in  his  prison;  a  few  yards  only  were 
between  them,  but  those  few  yards  were  built  upon 
with  stones.  In  the  daytime  messages  were  brought 
to  him  often  enough,  but  at  night,  when  the  mists 
rose  from  the  river  and  the  gates  were  closed,  and 
the  Parson  had  the  dark  loitering  hours  wherein  to 
picture  the  sick  room  with  its  dim  light  and  the  tired 
figure  tossing  from  this  side  to  that  of  the  bed,  then 
indeed  Smilinda  had  her  revenge. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

HOW,   BY   KEEPING  PAROLE,   MR.    KELLY   BROKE 

PRISON 

EVERY  morning  Mr.  Kelly  looked  for  the  doctor 
to  come  to  him  with  word  that  in  the  little 
house  without  the  Tower  Gate  the  blinds  were  drawn. 
But  that  message  was  not  brought  to  him,  and  Colonel 
Montague,  making  a  visit  to  the  prison,  three  weeks 
after  Rose  fell  ill,  found  the  Parson  sitting  very  quiet 
in  his  chair  with  a  face  strangely  illumined. 

*  Last  night  she  slept,'  said  George,  '  and  waked 
only  at  midday.  The  fever  has  left  her,  and  she  will 
live.     It  is  wonderful.' 

The  Colonel  said  what  was  fitting  to  the  occasion, 
and  the  Parson  replied  to  him  absently,  with  his  eyes 
upon  the  river  and  the  boats  swinging  on  the  tide ; 
and  after  a  while  Father  Myles  Macdonnell,  whom 
the  Colonel  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  of,  was 
ushered  into  the  room. 

The  Reverend  Father  was  a  kinsman  of  Parson 
Kelly,  and  though  their  acquaintance  had  been  of 
the  slightest,  the  Parson  now  turned  to  him  with  a 
great  welcome.  For  his  thoughts  were  now  entirely 
bent  upon  an  escape  from  his  captivity.  He  dared 
not  survey  the  possibility  that  some  time  Rose  might 
again  fall  ill,  and  that  again  he  must  sit  behind  the 
bars  and  only  hear  news  of  how  she  fared. 


PARSON    KELLY  399 

The  Reverend  Myles,  who  was  of  the  honest  party, 
but  not  as  yet  blown  upon  by  suspicion,  seemed  to 
him  his  only  help  and  instrument.  For  a  long  while, 
when  the  Colonel  had  gone,  the  pair  debated  the 
means  of  escape,  but  found  no  issue;  and  Rose 
brought  her  white  face  back  to  the  Tower,  and  the 
Parson's  spirits  drooped,  so  that  at  last  his  health 
began  to  fail.  He  was  therefore  allowed  to  drive 
out  in  a  coach  to  any  place  within  ten  miles  of  Lon- 
don in  the  custody  of  a  warder,  and  on  his  parole  to 
return  before  dark.  Of  this  favour  he  made  frequent 
use,  and  no  doubt  the  sight  of  the  busy  faces  in  the 
streets  urged  him  yet  more  to  make  a  bid  for  his 
freedom. 

Now  these  journeys  of  the  Parson  to  take  the  air 
set  Father  Myles  Macdonnell  upon  a  pretty  plan, 
which  he  imparted  to  Rose  and  to  George. 

'  You  drive  one  afternoon  up  into  Highgate  Woods 
—  d'  ye  follow  that  ?  I  have  half-a-dozen  well-disposed 
persons  hiding  in  a  clump  of  trees  who  will  take  care 
of  your  warder  —  d'ye  see?  There  will  be  a  stout 
horse  tethered  to  a  branch  close  by,  and  a  lugger 
waiting  off  the  coast  of  Essex  — '  but  the  Parson 
would  hear  no  more  of  the  scheme. 

'  I  have  given  rny  parole  to  come  back  to  the 
Tower  before  dark,'  said  he,  and  glanced  at  Rose, 
who  was  looking  away,  to  strengthen  him  in  his  ob- 
jection. '  I  cannot  break  it,  can  I,  Rose  ?  I  have 
given  my  parole.  I  am  not  one  of  the  Butcher  Cum- 
berland's officers.      We  must  keep  troth.' 

Rose  made  an  effort  and  agreed. 

'  Yes,'  said  she,  '  he  has  given  his  parole,  and  he 
cannot  break  it.' 


400 


PARSON    KELLY 


*  Not  so  long  as  he  's  a  lost  Protestant,'  said  the 
Reverend  Father.  He  tapped  George  on  the  knee, 
and  continued  in  a  wheedling  voice :  *  It  is  a  matter 
of  religion,  d'ye  see?  Just  let  me  convert  you.  I 
can  do  it  in  a  twinkling,  and  so  I  shall  save  your  body 
and  your  soul  in  one  glorious  moment.' 

*  How  so?  '  asked  the  Parson  with  a  laugh,  for  he 
was  by  this  time  well  used  to  his  kinsman's  efforts  to 
convert  him.  *  How  shall  a  Catholic  creep  out  of  the 
Tower  more  easily  than  a  Protestant?' 

'  Because  a  Catholic  can  break  his  parole.  It 's  a 
great  sin,  to  be  sure,  but  I  can  absolve  him  for  it 
afterwards.' 

To  Mr.  Kelly's  thinking  (and,  indeed,  to  Mr. 
Wogan's)  this  was  no  sterling  theology,  and  he  would 
not  be  persuaded.  Another  device  had  to  be  in- 
vented, and  when  at  last  a  satisfactory  plan  was 
resolved  upon,  the  plotters  must  wait  for  the  quick 
nightfalls  of  autumn. 

It  was  on  Guy  Fawkes  day,  the  fifth  of  November, 
1736,  that  Mr.  Kelly  made  his  escape.  On  the 
morning  of  that  day  he  drove  out  to  Epsom  in  the 
custody  of  his  warder  and  upon  his  parole  to  return 
before  dark.  At  four  o'clock,  when  the  light  was  just 
beginning  to  fall,  Father  Myles  Macdonnell  came 
into  the  Tower  by  the  Sally  Port  Stairs  opposite  the 
Mint.  He  was  told  that  the  Parson  was  taking  the 
air,  and  replied  that  he  would  go  to  the  Parson's  room 
and  wait.  Thereupon  he  crossed  the  precincts  of  the 
Tower,  and  coming  over  the  green  and  down  the 
steps  of  the  main-guard,  he  inquired  of  the  porter 
at  Traitor's  Gate  whether  or  no  Mr.  Kelly  had 
returned. 


PARSON    KELLY  401 

The  porter  answered  '  Not  yet.' 

*  It  is  a  great  pity,'  said  the  Reverend  Myles,  who 
seemed  much  flustered.  '  I  am  in  a  great  hurry,  and 
would  you  tell  him,  if  you  please,  the  moment  he 
comes,  to  run  with  all  haste  to  his  room?' 

Upon  that  he  turned  ofif  under  the  archway  of  the 
Bloody  Tower,  and  again  mounted  the  steps  of  the 
main-guard. 

About  half-an-hour  afterwards,  in  the  deepening 
twilight,  Mr.  Kelly  was  set  down  within  the  Traitor's 
Gate  ;  he  had  kept  his  parole.  The  porter  gave  him 
Father  Myles's  message ;  and  the  warder,  since  it 
appeared  that  he  could  only  proceed  as  usual  to  his 
lodging,  took  his  leave  of  him. 

The  Parson  accordingly  ran  up  the  steps  of  the 
main-guard  on  to  the  green,  which  was  by  this  time 
very  obscure.  Three  minutes  afterwards  Father 
Myles  Macdonnell  hurried  past  the  sentry  at  the 
Sally  Port  Stairs  opposite  the  Mint,  grumbling  that 
he  would  wait  no  longer,  and  so  came  out  upon 
Tower  Hill.  Just  at  that  time  to  a  moment  another 
Father  Myles  Macdonnell  accosted  the  porter  at 
Traitor's  Gate  and  requested  him  to  let  him  out,  see- 
ing that  he  was,  as  he  had  already  said,  in  a  great 
hurry.     The  porter  let  him  out  with  no  more  ado. 

The  second  Father  Myles  was  the  real  Father 
Myles ;  the  first  one  who  went  grumbling  out  by  the 
Sally  Port  Stairs  was  Parson  Kelly.  He  had  met 
Father  Myles  in  the  dark  corner  by  Beauchamp 
Tower,  had  slipped  over  his  head  a  cassock  which 
the  Father  had  brought  with  him,  and  had  run  across 
to  the  entrance  over  against  the  Mint,  and  so  into 
freedom. 

26 


402  PARSON    KELLY 

The  carriage  which  had  driven  him  to  Epsom,  after 
putting  him  down  again  at  the  Tower,  had  driven  to 
Tower  Hill,  where  it  waited  for  the  Parson  close  by 
the  Sally  Port  Stairs.  It  did  not  wait  long:  and  the 
Parson  was  hurried  at  a  gallop  out  of  London  amidst 
the  crackling  of  fireworks  and  the  burning  of  effigies 
of  Guy  Fawkes.  It  seemed  the  town  was  illuminated 
to  celebrate  his  escape. 

At  the  Tower  his  evasion  was  not  discovered  until 
half-past  seven  of  the  evening,  when  the  two  porters, 
being  relieved  from  their  separate  stations  at  the 
Traitor's  Gate  and  the  Sally  Port  Stairs,  each  vowed 
that  he  had  let  out  Father  Myles  Macdonnell.  This 
seemed  so  miraculous  an  occurrence  that  the  warder 
ran  to  Mr.  Kelly's  chamber.  It  was  empty,  and  then 
the  clamour  began.  The  Parson  had  thus  three 
hours'  start,  and,  though  a  reward  of  300/.  was  offered 
for  his  recapture,  no  more  was  heard  of  him  for  a 
week. 

Then,  however,  two  fishermen  coming  into  an  ale- 
house at  Broadstairs  saw  the  reward  for  Kelly  pro- 
claimed in  print  upon  the  wall,  and  fell  into  a  great 
fury  and  passion,  saying  that  they  had  only  received 
five  pounds  when  they  might  have  had  three  hundred. 
For  a  fee  of  five  pounds  they  had  put  a  man  over 
from  Broadstairs  to  Calais,  who,  when  once  he  was 
landed  in  France,  had  said  to  them: 

'  If  anyone  inquires  for  George  Kelly,  you  may  say 
that  he  is  safely  landed  in  France.' 

And  indeed  at  the  very  moment  when  the  fisher- 
men were  lamenting  their  mistake  in  the  alehouse, 
George  Kelly  and  Rose  were  taking  their  dinner  in 
Mr.  Wogan's  lodging  at  Paris.     Rose  had  travelled 


I 


PARSON    KELLY  403 

into  France  the  day  before  the  Parson  escaped,  and 
so,  after  fourteen  years,  they  were  united.  It  was  a 
merry  sort  of  a  party,  and  no  doubt  Wogan  made 
a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  noise.  He  drew  the 
Parson  aside  into  a  window  before  the  evening  was 
over. 

'You  are  not  very  rich,  I  suppose? '  said  he. 

'  I  want  for  nothing,'  said  the  Parson  with  a  foohsh 
eye  on  Rose,  Hke  a  boy  of  eighteen. 

Wogan  fumbled  in  his  fob  and  brought  out  a  packet 
which  he  unfolded. 

'  Diamonds  !  '  cried  Kelly. 

'  They  are  yours,'  said  Wogan.  '  I  picked  them  up 
off  the  floor  of  a  room  in  Soho  on  an  occasion  which 
you  may  remember.  A  miniature  frame  had  come  by 
a  mischance.' 

'  Smilinda's? '  asked  Kelly  with  a  frightened  glance 
over  his  shoulder  to  Rose,  who  had  the  discretion  not 
to  meddle  in  this  private  conversation. 

'  Yes,'  says  Wogan ;  '  Smilinda's.  She  gave  the 
stones  to  you.     Very  likely  they  are  worth  a  trifle.' 

"  We  '11  slip  out  and  sell  them  to-morrow,'  answered 
the  Parson  in  a  whisper. 

They  slipped  out,  but  they  did  not  sell  them.  The 
diamonds  were  paste,  and  Mr.  Wogan  at  last  under- 
stood why  Lady  Oxford,  when  she  gave  her  miniature 
set  with  brilliants  to  the  Parson,  had  been  so  anxious 
that  he  should  never  part  with  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

MR.  WOGAN  AGAIN  INVADES  ENGLAND,  MEETS  THE 
ELECT  LADY,  AND  BEARS  WITNESS  TO  HER  PER- 
FECTIONS 

IT  seemed  to  Wogan  that  this  particular  story  of  the 
Parson's  fortunes,  which  began  in  Paris  so  long 
ago,  hid  now  ended  in  Paris.  But  he  was  wrong,  and 
it  was  not  till  ten  years  after  Mr.  Kelly's  escape  from 
the  Tower  that  Wogan  witnessed  the  last  circumstance 
in  England,  and  himself  spoke  the  closing  word. 

Retiring  soon  from  Paris,  which  ill  suited  a  slender 
purse,  Mr.  Kelly  lived,  with  his  fair  wife,  at  Avignon, 
where  he  played  secretary  to  the  Duke  of  Ormond. 
The  Parson  was  a  gene  on  the  amours  of  the  aged 
Duke,  who  posted  him  off,  in  the  year  Forty-Five,  to 
escort  the  Prince  of  Wales  to  the  Scottish  islands. 
Wogan  himself,  earlier  in  the  same  year  of  grace, 
lost  an  arm  at  the  battle  of  Fontenoy,  but  got  a  leaf 
of  the  laurels,  being  dubbed  Chevalier  of  the  Order 
of  St.  Louis. 

His  arm  amputated  and  the  wound  healed,  Wogan 
must  needs  join  the  Prince  of  Wales,  then  residing  in 
his  palace  of  Holyrood,  near  Edinburgh.  Wogan 
came  too  late  for  that  pretty  onfall  at  Prestonpans,  but 
he  marched  south  with  the  Prince's  forces,  riding  again 
the  old  roads  from  Carlisle  to  Lancaster  and  Preston, 


PARSON    KELLY  405 

The  buxom  maids  of  the  inns  were  broad-blown 
landladies  now;  some  of  them  remembered  Wogan; 
and  the  ale  was  as  good  as  ever. 

It  chanced  that  at  Preston,  where  he  tarried  for  a 
couple  of  days,  Mr.  Wogan  was  billeted  on  a  cobbler, 
a  worthy  man,  but  besotted  with  a  new  religion,  which 
then  caused  many  popular  tumults.  To  England  it 
had  been  brought  over  from  America  by  two  brothers 
of  Wogan's  old  friend,  Sam  Wesley,  the  usher  at 
Westminster  School,  and  familiar  of  Bishop  Atter- 
bury. 

Wogan's  host  could  talk  of  nothing  but  this  creed, 
whose  devotees  cried  out  (it  seemed),  laughed,  fell 
down  in  fits,  barked,  and  made  confession  in  public. 

'  Ah,  sir,'  he  said  to  Wogan,  '  if  you  could  but  hear 
the  Brothers  Wesley,  Charles  and  John,  in  the  pulpit 
or  singing  hymns!  Charles  sings  like  an  angel,  and 
to  hear  John  exhort  the  unaroused  might  waken  those 
who  have  lain  for  a  score  of  years  in  the  arms  of  the 
Devil.' 

'John  Wesley,  little  Jack  Wesley?'  cried  Wogan. 
'  Why,  I  have  saved  him  from  many  a  beating  at 
Westminster  School ! ' 

'  Do  you  know  that  saint,  sir?  '  asked  the  cobbler, 
in  an  enthusiasm. 

'  Know  him,  I  know  nobody  else,  if  he  is  the 
brother  of  honest  Sam  Wesley,  that  once  let  me  into 
the  Deanery  on  a  night  in  May.  Assuredly  I  knew 
httle  Jack.' 

The  cobbler  came  near  kneeling  to  Wogan.  '  Here, 
indeed,  is  the  finger  of  Providence,'  he  exclaimed. 
'  Dear  sir,  you  may  yet  cast  off  the  swathings  of  the 
Scarlet  Woman.' 


406  PARSON    KELLY 

'  Easy,  be  easy,  Mr.  Crispin !  '  quoth  Wogan. 
*  But  tell  me,  is  Jack  to  preach  and  is  Charles  to  sing 
in  this  town  of  yours  to-night?' 

'  Unhappily  no,  but  we  are  promised  the  joy  of 
hearing  that  famed  disciple,  Mr.  Bunton,  discourse, 
and  the  Elect  Lady,  as  the  Brethren  style  her,  will 
also  speak.' 

'Do  the  women  preach  in  your  new  Church?  ' 

*  No,  but  they  are  permitted  to  tell  the  story  of 
their  call,  and  to-night  we  shall  hear  the  Elect 
Lady  — ' 

'  Confess  before  the  congregation?  'Faith,  the 
discourse  may  be  improving.  Is  the  Elect  Lady 
handsome?' 

*  She  hath  been  one  of  the  most  renowned  beauties 
of  her  age,  and  there  are  some  who  say  that  she  is 
little  altered  by  time.  Ah,  sir,  she  will  make  you 
embrace  the  truth.' 

'  My  embraces  were  ever  at  the  mercy  of  feminine 
persuasion,'  said  Wogan.  '  Is  this  Elect  Lady  of 
these  parts  ? ' 

'  No,  sir,  she  comes  from  the  South,  travelling 
with  holy  Mr.  Bunton.  You  will  oblige  me  infinitely, 
sir,  if  you  will  take  pity  on  your  own  poor  soul  and 
join  our  love-feast.  We  meet  in  the  warehouse  of 
Mr.  Brown,  our  most  eminent  grocer,  in  Scotch 
Lane,  behind  the  "  Jackdaw  and  Bagpipes."  ' 

'  I  thank  you  for  your  solicitude,'  Wogan  said ; 
'  and  as  to  the  love-feast,  I  '11  think  of  it.' 

Consequently  he  thought  no  more  of  it  till  the 
bottle  had  gone  round  half-a-dozen  times  at  the 
Prince's  mess  in  the  '  Bull  Tavern.'  Lord  Elcho, 
who  had  certainly  drunk  his  dose,  began  telling,  as  a 


PARSON    KELLY  407 

good  thing,  of  his  conversation  with  a  bourgeois  of 
Preston. 

'"What  is  your  Prince's  religion?"  asked  the 
bourgeois. 

*  "  That  is  still  to  seek,  my  good  man,  still  to  seek," 
I  answered  him,'  cried  Elcho,  laughing. 

The  Prince  laughed  also ;  the  free-thinking  phil- 
osophers had  been  at  him  already,  first  in  Rome, 
then  in  Paris. 

'  Good  for  you,  Elcho,'  he  cried ;  then,  musing, 
*  'T  is  a  very  awkward  business,  this  of  religion.  We 
have  given  three  crowns  for  a  mass,  and  there 's  the 
difficulty,  there  it  is,  as  black  as  ever.  I  wish  some 
one  would  invent  a  new  creed,  and  the  rest  agree 
about  it,  d— n  them,  and  then  what  is  still  to  seek, 
my  religion,  would  be  found.' 

A  thought  came  into  Wogan's  head  ;  the  bottle  had 
made  rounds  enough,  and  more ;  next  morning  they 
were  to  march  early. 

'  Sir,'  he  said,  '  there  is  a  new  religion,  and  a 
handsome  lady  to  preach  it.'  Then  he  repeated 
what  his  host,  the  cobbler,  had  chanted  to  him,  'The 
meeting  is  at  night  in  the  warehouse  of  Mr.  Brown, 
the  eminent  grocer.' 

*A  handsome  woman!  —  a  new  belief!  By  St. 
Andrew,  I  '11  go,'  cried  Charles.  '  You  '11  come, 
Nick,  you  and  — '  he  looked  at  the  faces  looming 
through  the  tobacco  smoke  round  the  wine-stained 
table.  The  blue  reek  of  pipes  clouded  and  clung  to 
men's  faces;  to  the  red  rough  beard  of  Lochgarry, 
the  smart,  clean-shaven  Ker  of  Graden  and  Maxwell 
of  Kirkconnell,  the  hardy  gaze  of  brave  Balmerino, 
the   fated    Duke   of  Perth.      Wogan   thought    of   the 


4o8  PARSON    KELLY 

Highland  belief  in  the  shroud  of  mist  that  is  seen 
swathing  men  doomed  soon  to  die,  as  were  so  many 
of  them.  The  Prince  stood  and  stared,  his  pipe  in 
his  hand.  '  Nick,  you  will  come,  you  and  Ker  of 
Graden  ;   he  's  sober  !     Allans  ! ' 

'  Sir,'  whispered  Mr.  Murray  of  Broughton,  '  think 
of  the  danger  !  The  Elector  has  his  assassins  every- 
where; they  are  taken;  your  Royal  Highness  laughs 
and  lets  them  go,  and  the  troops  murmur.' 

'  Danger  !  Will  they  look  for  me  at  a  tub-thumping 
match  ? ' 

The  Prince  picked  up  a  cork  from  the  floor;  he 
set  it  to  the  flame  of  a  candle ;  he  touched  with  it  his 
eyebrows  and  upper  lip ;  he  tucked  his  brown  hair 
under  his  wig,  standing  before  the  mirror  on  the 
chimneypiece.  Then  he  flung  a  horseman's  cloak 
over  his  shoulders,  stooped,  and  limped  a  little  in  his 
walk. 

'  A  miracle,'  everyone  called  out,  for  scarce  a 
man  of  them  could  have  known  him. 

He  tossed  his  hand  in  the  air;  'Allans,  en  avant!' 
he  cried,  with  a  laugh;  and  Wogan,  with  Ker  of 
Graden,  did  what  all  might  have  better  done  at 
Derby — 'followed  their  leader. 

The  night  was  wintry,  and  a  cold  north  wind  blew 
about  the  rare  flickering  oil  lamps  in  the  street.  All 
three  men  buttoned  themselves  up  in  their  cloaks. 
The  Prince,  still  stooping  and  limping,  took  an  arm 
of  each  of  his  aides-de-camp;  indeed,  he  somewhat 
needed  their  support. 

*  I  am  like  that  Sultan  in  Monsieur  Galland's 
Eastern  tales,'  he  said,  '  visiting  my  subjects  incog- 
nito.    Nick,  you   are  Mesrour,  the  Chief  of  the  — 


PARSON    KELLY  409 

no,  you 're  Giaffar.  Graden  is  —  I  forget  the  Eastern 
minister's  name.  I  am  the  Caliph.  But  what  are  the 
rabble  about? ' 

The  three  pilgrims  had  entered  the  lane  that  led  to 
the  warehouse  of  the  devout  grocer.  There  was  a 
mob  around  the  door  waving  torches  and  shouting 
insults  at  a  few  decent  tradesmen  and  their  wives  who 
were  bent  on  the  same  pious  errand  as  VVogan  and 
his  friends. 

'  Away,  swaddlers  !  '  '  Down  with  the  Methodists  !  ' 
they  cried ;  and  a  burly  fellow  brushed  against 
Wogan's  shoulder  in  the  least  gentlemanly  style.  He 
reeled  off  and  fell  flat  in  the  lane,  while  the  other 
ragamuffins  laughed  at  him. 

The  three  devotees  stepped  briskly  through  the 
grinning  crowd  that  cried  to  Graden,  '  Come  to  buy 
brimstone,  Scotch  Sandy?  ' 

'  Come  to  escape  it,  my  dear  friend,'  quoth  Wogan's 
host,  the  cobbler,  who  stood  at  the  door,  and  kept 
it,  too,  against  the  mob  with  a  great  show  of 
spirit. 

'  You  have  thought  of  us,  sir?  '  asked  the  cobbler. 

'  Ay,  and  brought  two  other  inquiring  spirits,'  said 
Wogan. 

They  were  conducted  into  a  long  half-empty  ware- 
house, smelling  of  cheese  and  festooned  with  cob- 
webs. A  light  or  two  burned  dimly  in  horn  lanterns; 
a  low  platform  of  new  planks  had  been  set  up  at  the 
top  of  the  room;  a  table  with  seven  candles  made  an 
illumination  there ;  a  big  black  Bible  was  flanked 
by  a  jug  of  water  and  a  glass.  The  preacher  sat 
on  a  chair  (most  of  the  congregation  stood,  or 
reposed   on   barrels   and  benches)    and   on   another 


4IO  PARSON    KELLY 

chair,  beside  the  preacher,  was  a  lady,  veiled,  her  fine 
figure  obscured  by  widow's  weeds. 

'  Is  that  your  beauty?  '  whispered  the  Prince. 

'  The  Elect  Lady,  sir,'  murmured  the  cobbler 
devoutly. 

'  Mon  Dieu  !  she  has  a  very  pretty  foot !  * 

And  Wogan,  too,  noticed  the  blaze  of  a  diamond 
buckle  that  nearly  covered  the  little  arched  instep. 
Tap,  tap !  went  the  Elect  Lady's  foot,  thrust  out  in 
front  of  her  heavy  petticoat  of  crape. 

'  The  lady  is  travelling  everywhere,  for  the  good  of 
souls,  gentlemen,  with  Mr.  Wesley's  friend  and  choice 
disciple,  the  preacher,  Mr.  Bunton.' 

*  L'heureux  Monsieur  Bunton  !  Quelle  chance  !  ' 
quoth  his  Highness. 

Mr.  Bunton,  the  preacher,  was  indeed  a  fine,  hand- 
some young  fellow  as  any  widow  could  wish  to  look 
upon.  He  wore  lay  dress,  not  being  a  priest  ordained 
of  the  Church  of  England.  As  for  the  congregation, 
they  were  small  trading  people,  not  rabble ;  indeed, 
the  mob  outside  broke  most  of  the  windows  during 
the  sermon,  that  was  interrupted,  not  only  by  the 
pebbles  of  the  ragamuffins,  but  by  the  antics  of  the 
congregation. 

Mr.  Bunton,  after  a  hymn  had  been  sung  without 
any  music,  began  his  preaching.  He  assured  the 
audience  that  none  of  them  could  be  a  gayer  dog 
than  he  had  been,  that  was  now  a  shining  light.  He 
obliged  the  congregation  with  a  history  of  his  early 
life  and  adventures,  which  Wogan  now  tells  in  few 
words,  that  people  may  know  what  manner  of  men 
were  certain  of  thcj^e  saints,  or  had  been.  Mr.  Bunton 
was  reared   in    sin,  he    said,  as    a    land-surveyor.     A 


PARSON    KELLY  411 

broth  of  a  boy  he  was,  and  nine  times  his  parents 
sent  him  from  Reading  to  London  to  bind  him  to  a 
trade.  Nine  times  his  masters  returned  him  on  their 
hands. 

Here  the  audience  groaned  aloud,  and  one  went  offin 
a  fit.  Mr.  Bunton  then  told  how  he  was  awakened  to 
sin  as  he  walked  in  Cheapside.  At  this  many,  and 
the  cobbler  among  them,  cried  '  Hallelujah  !  '  but 
some  went  off  into  uncontrollable  fits  of  laughter, 
which  did  not  disturb  the  gravity  of  the  rest  of  the 
assembly. 

The  preacher's  confession  was,  indeed,  of  such  a 
nature  that  Wogan  let  a  laugh  out  of  himself,  while 
Graden  and  the  Prince  rolled  in  extreme  convulsions. 

'  Go  on,  gentlemen ;  you  are  in  the  right  path,' 
said  the  cobbler,  '  Our  converts  are  generally  taken 
in  this  way  first.  It  is  reckoned  a  very  favourable 
sign  of  grace.  Some  laugh  for  a  week  without  stop- 
ping to  sleep,  eat,  or  drink. 

*  I  '11  try  to  stop  to  drink,'  hooted  his  Highness, 
his  face  as  red  as  a  lobster;  and  then  off  he  went 
again,  the  bench  shaking  beneath  him,  while  Wogan 
and  Graden  laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  their 
cheeks  in  their  dark  corner.  The  sympathetic  cobbler 
murmured  texts  of  an  appropriate  character.  Indeed, 
now  he  thinks  of  it  all,  and  sees  Mr.  Bunton  sawing 
the  air  while  he  tells  the  story  of  his  early  wicked 
days,  Mr.  Wogan  laughs  as  he  writes.  The  man  was 
greasy  and  radiant  with  satisfied  vanity.  His  narra- 
tive of  what  he  did  and  thought  after  he  awoke  to  sin 
in  Cheapside  was  a  marvel. 

'  I  felt  that  beef  and  mutton  were  sinful  things.' 

Here  came  a  groan  from  an  inquiring  butcher. 


412  PARSON    KELLY 

'  I  wished  to  put  away  all  that  was  of  the  flesh 
fleshy.  My  desire  was  to  dwell  alone,  in  a  cave,  far 
from  the  sight  of  woman,' 

The  Elect  Lady  groaned,  and  all  the  wenches  in 
the  congregation  followed  suit. 

'  Abstaining  from  feasts  of  fat  things,  my  mind  was 
set  on  a  simple  diet  of  acorns,  grass,  and  crabs.' 

'  Les  glands,  les  ecrevisses,  et  I'herbe  des  champs  !  ' 
hooted  the  Prince.  '  Mon  Dieu,  quel  souper,  et  quelle 
digestion  il  doit  avoir,  cet  homme-la !  ' 

'  But,  sisters  and  brethren,'  Mr.  Bunton  went  on, 
'  did  I  yield  to  these  popish  temptations?  Did  I  live, 
like  one  of  their  self-righteous  so-called  saints,  on 
crabs,  acorns,  and  grass?  Did  I  retire  to  a  cave? 
No,  dear  sisters  and  brethren.  My  motive  for  ab- 
staining was  bad;  it  was  a  suggestion  of  the  Old 
Man—' 

•  Qui  done  est-il,  ce  vieillard  bien  pensant?  '  whis- 
pered the  Prince. 

'The  devil,  sir,'  answered  Graden,  who  knew  the 
doctrine  of  the  Scotch  ministers. 

'  My  motive  for  not  living  on  crabs  in  a  cave  was 
bad,  I  confess,  but  it  was  over-ruled  for  the  best. 
Dear  friends,  I  kept  myself  far  from  these  tempta- 
tions, because,  indeed,  I  was  afraid  of  ghosts  that 
haunt  caves  and  such  places.' 

'  II  ne  mangeait  pas  les  ecrevisses,  parce  qu  'il  avait 
peur  des  rcvenants  !  O  c'est  trop  !  '  said  the  Prince, 
in  a  voice  choked  with  emotion,  while  more  advanced 
disciples  cried  '  Glory !  '  and  '  Hallelujah  !  ' 

'  But  next,'  the  preacher  went  on,  much  gratified 
and  encouraged  by  these  demonstrations,  '  I  was 
happily  brought  acquainted  with  that  precious  sister, 


PARSON    KELLY  413 

that  incomparable  disciple  of  Mr.  Wesley,  whom  we 
call  the  Elect  Lady.  Then  I  awoke  to  light,  and  saw 
that  it  was  laid  upon  me  to  preach,  continually  and 
unceasingly,  making  in  every  town  confession  of  my 
offences.  That  dear  lady,  friends,  promises  for  this 
once  (she  is  as  modest  as  she  is  generous  and  good) 
to  tell  us  the  moving  story  of  her  own  early  dangers, 
while  she  was  a  dweller  in  the  tents  of — of  Shem, 
I  think.' 

The  congregation  cheered  and  stamped  with  their 
feet,  all  but  a  few  who  were  rolling  on  the  floor  in  fits 
and  foaming  at  the  mouth.  Mr.  Bunton  sat  down 
very  warm,  and  applied  himself  to  the  mug  of 
water. 

The  Elect  Lady  rose  up  to  her  full  height,  and 
tossed  back  her  veil  over  her  shoulders. 

'  Ah,  nous  sommes  trompes,'  said  the  Prince. 
*  C'est  une  femme  de  quarante  ans,  bien  sonnes ! ' 

But  Wogan,  between  the  shoulders  of  the  congre- 
gation, stared  from  his  dim  corner  as  he  had  never 
stared  at  mortal  woman  before.  The  delicate  features 
were  thickened,  alas,  the  lips  had  fallen  in,  the  gold 
threads  had  been  unwoven  out  of  the  dark  brown 
hair.  There  were  two  dabs  of  red  on  a  powdered 
face,  where  in  time  past  the  natural  roses  and  lilies 
had  bloomed  ;  but  the  voice  and  the  little  Andalusian 
foot  that  beat  the  time  with  the  Elect  Lady's  periods 
were  the  voice  and  the  foot  of  the  once  incomparable 
Smilinda !  Nay,  when  she  turned  and  looked  at  the 
converted  land-surveyor  beside  her,  Mr.  Wogan  knew 
in  her  gaze  the  ghost  of  the  glance  that  had  bewitched 
Scrope,  and  Kelly,  and  Colonel  Montague,  and  Lord 
Sidney  Beauclerk,  and  who  knows  how  many  other 


414  PARSON    KELLY 

gallants?  In  that  odd  place  Wogan  felt  a  black  fit 
of  the  spleen.  A  woman's  loss  of  beauty,  —  Wogan 
can  never  think  of  it  unmoved.  What  tragedy  that 
we  men  endure  or  enact  is  like  this  ? 

But  her  ladyship  spoke,  and  she  spoke  very  well. 
The  congregation,  all  of  them  that  were  not  in  fits  or 
in  laughing  hysterics,  listened  as  if  to  an  angel. 
Heavens  !  what  a  story  she  told  of  her  youth  !  What 
dangers  encountered  !  What  plots  prepared  against 
her  virtue,  ay,  by  splendid  soldiers,  beautiful  young 
lords,  and  even  clergymen ;  above  all,  by  one  mon- 
ster whom  she  had  discovered  to  be,  not  only  a 
monster,  but  a  traitor  to  the  King,  and  an  agent  of 
the  Pretender.  She  was  a  young  thing  then,  married 
to  an  old  lord,  all  unprotected,  on  every  side  beset 
by  flattery. 

The  congregation  groaned  and  swayed  at  the  pic- 
ture of  man's  depravity,  but  Wogan,  his  spleen  quite 
forgotten,  was  chuckling  with  delight. 

Yet,  all  unawakened  as  she  was,  said  this  penitent, 
an  unknown  influence  had  ever  shielded  her.  She 
remembered  how  one  of  these  evil  ones,  the  clergy- 
man, after  kneeling  vainly  at  her  feet,  had  cried, 
'Sure,  some  invisible  power  protects  your  ladyship.' 

Here  the  groans  gave  place  to  cries  of  praise,  arms 
were  lifted,  the  simple,  good  people  wept.  Wogan 
listened  with  a  less  devotional  air,  bending  forward 
on  his  bench,  and  silently  smiling  for  joy.  In  truth 
it  had  just  come  upon  him  that  it  was  his  duty  to 
stand  up  when  the  Elect  Lady  sat  down,  and  bear 
his  witness  to  the  truth  of  her  narrative. 

*  Not  to  her  be  the  triumph,'  she  went  on,  '  all 
unawakened   as   she   then   was,   and   remained,  till 


PARSON    KELLY  415 

she  heard  Mr.  Wesley  preach,'  and  thereafter  went 
through  the  world  with  Brother  Bunton,  converting 
land-surveyors,  colliers,  and  others. 

Wogan  does  not  care  to  remember  or  quote 
any  more  of  this  lady's  pieties.  They  had  a  kind 
of  warmth  and  ease  of  familiarity  which,  in  sacred 
things,  are  not  to  his  liking.  However,  when  she 
ceased,  Mr.  Wogan  stood  up,  a  tall  figure  of  a 
French  officer  with  an  empty  sleeve  in  his  dim 
corner. 

'  Good  people,'  he  said ;  '  in  my  heedless  youth  I 
had  the  honour  to  be  of  the  acquaintance  of  this 
lady  who  has  just  spoken  to  you.' 

The  Elect  Lady  glanced  at  Wogan ;  she  gave 
a  strange,  short  cry,  and  the  black  veil  swept  over 
her  face  again. 

'  I  v/as,'  Wogan  went  on,  '  the  eye-witness  of  these 
trials  to  which  her  Ladyship's  virtue  was  exposed  by 
the  wicked  ones  of  whose  company  I  was  a  careless 
partaker.  I  have  heard  that  wicked  minister  say 
that  some  invisible  power  protected  her  Ladyship. 
If  any  testimony  to  the  truth  of  her  ladyship's 
moving  tale  were  needed  I  could  bear  that  evi- 
dence, as  could  my  friend  the  Rev.  Mr.  Kelly, 
now  in  France  with  despatches,  and  also  General 
Montague,  at  present  serving  with  Field-Marshal 
Wade,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Newcastle.' 

Wogan  sat  down. 

'That  was  providential  indeed,' said  the  cobbler; 
and  all  the  congregation  bawled  '  Miracle.'  But  the 
Elect  Lady  sat  still,  her  face  in  her  hands,  like  a 
Niobe  in  black  bombazine. 

In   the   confusion,    the   three   inquirers   from    the 


41 6  PARSON  KELLY 

Prince's  army  slipped  modestly  forth.  A  heavy 
shower  of  snow  had  swept  the  rabble  out  of  the 
lane.  All  was  dark  and  cold,  after  the  reek  of  the 
crowded  warehouse. 

'Nick,'  said  the  Prince,  'was  that  story  all  true? 
Was  the  Elect  Lady  a  prude?' 

'  It  is  Mr.  Kelly's  story,  sir,'  said  Wogan.  Your 
Royal  Highness  can  ask  him.' 

'George  was  her  adorer?  Then  George  shall  tell 
me  the  tale  over  a  bottle.  How  the  cold  strikes ! 
Hey,  for  a  bowl  of  punch !  '  cried  the  Prince. 

*  I  am  at  your  commands,  sir,  but  may  I  say 
that  it  is  one  of  the  morning,  and  the  pipes  play 
the  reveille  at  four?' 

*To  quarters,  then!  What  is  the  word,  damme? 
What  is  the  word?' 

'  Slaint  an  Righ,  sir.' 

'  Slaint  an  Righ?  I  never  can  get  my  tongue 
about  it.  Oh,  if  our  subjects  had  but  one  language 
and  one  religion !  But  it  shall  not  be  the  religion  of 
Mr.  Bunton.     Bon  soirl^ 

'  You  have  taken  every  trick,  Wogan ! '  said 
Graden,  as  the  Prince  entered  his  inn.  *A  sober 
night,  for  once,  before  a  long  day's  march.' 

Next  morning  the  army  went  south,  to  Derby, 
and  then  (by  no  fault  of  the  Irish  ofificers  or  ot 
their  Prince)  came  back  again.  Wogan  was  at 
Falkirk,  Culloden,  and  Ruthven,  woe  worth  the 
day !  How  he  reached  France  when  all  was  over, 
is  between  him  and  a  very  beautiful  young-  lady 
of  Badenoch ;  she  said  she  bore  a  king's  name 
—  Miss    Helen    Macwilliam.     Of    King   Macwilliam 


PARSON    KELLY  417 

Wogan  hath  never  heard,  but  the  young  lady 
(whose  brothers  had  taken  to  the  heather)  pro- 
tected Wogan  in  his  distress,  tended  his  wound, 
hid  him  from  the  red-coat  soldiers,  and  at  last 
secured  for  him  a  passage  in  a  vessel  from  Mont- 
rose. 

And  for  all  souvenir,  she  kept  the  kerchief  with 
which  she  had  first  bound  up  the  bayonet-stab  that 
Wogan  came  by,  when  he,  with  the  Stewarts,  broke 
through  Barrel's  regiment  at  Culloden.  He  writes 
this  at  Avignon,  where  George  and  his  wife  also 
dwell,  in  the  old  house  with  the  garden,  the  roses, 
and  the  noisy,  pretty  children  that  haunted  Mr. 
Kelly's  dreams  when  he  was  young. 


PRINTED    FROM    AMERICAN     I'LATES 
AT    THE    ABERDEEN     UNIVERSITY    PRESS. 


I 


■,v!«»ii.Mj---.,0/*f» 


DATE  DUE 

CAYLORO 

pniNTCo  IN  urn. A. 

